


The Witchfinder: AU

by DwaejiTokki



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen, Magic, Torture, witchfinder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwaejiTokki/pseuds/DwaejiTokki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredian doesn't believe Gaius' claim to be the owner of the bracelet found in the jar. Merlin is interrogated. Will his innocence be proven before the boy is condemned and burned?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

" _Mer_ lin?" Arthur said incredulously. "You  _ can't _ be serious."

Gaius'  brow furrowed angrily. "This is outrageous! You have no evidence!"

Aredian was unperturbed by the reactions he received.  He looked at the king as he  replied coolly, "The tools of magic cannot be hidden from me. I am certain that a thorough search of the boy's chamber will deliver us all we need."

King Uther turned his attention to the accused manservant, who had yet to move. "Merlin?" he prompted.

Merlin swallowed.  "I have nothing to hide from him,"  he  answered in a steady voice.

"Very well," Uther said, sitting in his throne once more. "Guards, restrain the boy. Let the search begin."

The guards moved forward and each took one of Merlin's arms.  Merlin did not resist, and allowed himself to be led out of the room without looking back. There was a buzz of commotion behind him, and he knew that most of the people present were quite shocked at the revelation of his being a sorcerer. He could only hope that no one really believed it.

He hoped Gaius knew that he had not done anything to get himself caught - Well, aside from the smoke. Damn, why did he have to go and do that? It was just that he hadn't used his magic in  _ so  _ long, and it was building up inside him,  _ begging  _ to be released. That nagging was not helped by his boredom. Gods, he was an idiot, really, especially when he was bored. Bored, bored, bored, life was so  _ boring  _ when he couldn't use magic. 

It wasn't until he was led in that general direction did Merlin realize he was being taken to the dungeons. Well, he supposed that was to be expected. He did hope it was one of the cells nearest to the exit: That was where the air was freshest, and there was a straw mattress situated against the wall. And no shackles, that was always a plus.

And he was put into the first cell, much to his relief. Once he had stepped past the threshold of the thick iron bars, the guards released him. He watched over his shoulder as they shut the screeching door and locked i t with an audible, final click. One of the guards, Bernard, Merlin thought his name was, gave him an apologetic look. Merlin smiled at him understandingly. He was left alone.

For a moment, after their footsteps had receded, Merlin contemplated what to do to keep himself occupied. He had no doubt that Gaius could dispel any inquiries after his own being, and quite probably him, too. He would be free to go shortly enough. He hoped that they didn't ransack his room. It was already a mess, yes, but he was getting around to tidying it. Maybe they would tidy it for him? Wishful thinking; very unlikely. 

The young warlock eyed the mattress against the far wall. It was about as long as he was tall - six feet, give or take - and straw was poking out of the thin, filthy covering every which way. But it would cushion him from the cold, hard stone beneath him. It was always a bit chilly and damp  (and moldy) in the dungeons, but that was to be expected since they were underground, after all. The cell in which he was confined was small, about half the size of his bedroom in Gaius' chambers.  _ But it's not so bad_, he thought, _ I'll only be here for a bit. _

He heaved a sigh that echoed a bit and sat down, prepared to wait for his release.

Merlin wondered what Arthur was doing. At the memory of his disbelief at Aredian's (actually quite correct) claim, the young warlock rolled his eyes. No doubt Arthur was still grimacing at the laughable notion of Merlin's magic. Merlin could just imagine Arthur standing by  a bit uncomfortably as  Aredian turned Merlin's room upside down, searching for nonexistent magical objects. He wondered if Arthur would personally come down and release him. Likely so, as he had his own set of keys.

Gaius would be  _ furious_. Hell, he was already furious at Merlin. The young man winced at the memory of his earlier chastisement. It hurt to be yelled at by his guardian, though he had deserved it for his stupidity, but the disappointment hurt all the more. Merlin would have to make it up to him, somehow. It seemed all Merlin did was shave the years off of Gaius' life, what with all the trouble he attracted on  a near daily basis. Merlin would work extra hard to stay out of trouble after this was all over. He would go out and pick herbs without having to be  asked, and he would finish all of his chores without the aid of magic, even though it had always been just a  _ tiny  _ bit. And he would clean that god-awful leech tank. Yes, Gaius would appreciate that, perhaps even forgive Merlin for his atrocities. Not that he thought Gaius would hold a grudge; he never did.

Merlin twiddled his thumbs absently, vaguely glad that he hadn't been shackled. That would have been a pain. Aredian sure was taking his sweet time searching for evidence of Merlin's crimes. There was no window in the cell, so Merlin couldn't be sure how much time was passing. The guards had gone to their table beneath the stairs, and by the sounds of it they were playing a quiet game of  dice. He almost wished that one of them, prefer ably Bernard, would come and converse with him. He needed a distraction from the cold sense of dread that was wriggling up his innards. 

Shouldn't someone have let him out by now?

He shivered, starting to feel the chill in the air. He had his thin jacket, but it did little to warm his wiry frame. Merlin drew his knees up to his chest and tucked his elbows into the crook his body made. It helped a bit. Now that he was a little more comfortable, his thoughts turned  to the person he didn't want to think about.

How had Aredian known Merlin was a sorcerer? Had he let something slip? Had it shown on his face when they had spoken earlier? Or perhaps Aredian had sensed his magic. Merlin hadn't felt any in the witchfinder, but that did not mean the eerie man didn't have any. The more Merlin thought about it the more frightened he became. Aredian knew what he was doing, knew how to manipulate, knew how to twist words. And suddenly Merlin was very aware of how much time was passing. 

Really, shouldn't someone have let him out by now?

Footsteps. Merlin jumped a bit as he heard the quiet murmuring of indistinct voices. His heart pounded in anticipation. Finally, he was being released! He hoped it was Arthur coming, though he would never admit it. He needed a familiar face, someone to banter with. Someone to call out for being a prat, since he couldn't call out  Aredian without possibly endangering himself again. He tried to school his face to hide his fear as the newcomers approached. There were three of them, if Merlin was counting the footfalls correctly. It was likely that Arthur would have come to fetch him alone, but would be accompanied by the two guards that had delivered him to the prison.

The door squealed open, and Merlin raised his eyes. The sight that greeted him was entirely welcome, but the expression on the prat's face was very not. Arthur lifted his chin and looked down at Merlin, eyes swimming with uncertainty, pity, and - was that a bit of fear there? Merlin didn't like that at all. His heart hammered harder, but there was a last shred of hope he clutched at as Arthur opened his mouth.

"An instrument of sorcery has been found hidden away in Gaius' chamber," he said, and Merlin furrowed his brow in confusion. He had  stashed  his magical things in the cave below Camelot, where the Great Dragon was kept. And he was quite sure that the dragon hadn't  magicked his things back to his room. Arthur did not miss Merlin's shock, and though he did not acknowledge it outwardly he was all the more sorry for it. "You will be interrogated later. Just be truthful, Merlin," Arthur advised. "I don't want to have to go through the trouble of finding another manservant."

The light attempt at humor fell flat, as Merlin was staring at Arthur with undisguised horror and confusion. His breathing had quickened, and he hadn't moved since the prince had graced him with his presence. 

"I know you're innocent, Merlin," Arthur said seriously. He nodded once as though to punctuate his sentence, and then dallied only a second longer before turning and leaving. He hated to leave Merlin, but he really could do nothing at the moment. Hopefully the idiot wouldn't say anything disastrous. 

The guard swung the door shut behind Arthur with an awful squeal that the prince absolutely hated. 

"Wait!" 

Arthur turned, dreading the frightened look that was sure to be in his manservant's eyes. To his surprise, Merlin's hands were clenched tightly around the bars ( _W hen had he moved?_), and he was looking at Arthur - angrily? Well, he had been falsely accused of sorcery, a crime punishable by death, so that wasn't so surprising.

"What instrument of sorcery?" Merlin demanded, resisting the urge to shake the bars. He wasn't about to let Aredian get away with it, whatever he had done. Not if he could help it.

"A bracelet," Arthur replied,  studying Merlin for any sign of guilt or lies. "It was gold, with a yellow stone inset. You know of it?"

Merlin's brow had furrowed further as the prince described it. It was obvious that he'd never seen it, and it struck hope and relief into Arthur's heart.

"Gaius claimed it was his," Arthur said.

Merlin's eyebrows instantly raised in alarm. "Gaius doesn't practice sorcery!"

"I know," he said quickly. "Aredian didn't believe him, either. He's taken the bracelet to my father, as proof of your magic."

The manservant's face hardened again. He released the bars and turned his back, leaning back against them as though contemplating something. "It's not Gaius'," he said thoughtfully, "and it's not mine. So where did it come from?"

Arthur frowned. "I'll look into it," he promised. Then he spun on his heel and left with the guards. The three men missed the incredulous look Merlin had given the prince. Prince Arthur the  Prattish cared enough to try and prove his innocence? It warmed Merlin's heart, really. Underneath Arthur's manliness was a girl's petticoat who cared.  _ How quaint_.

But back to the dilemma at hand. What exactly was that bracelet? Could it really have belonged to  Gaius? Yes, the old physician had once practiced sorcery, but no more, Merlin was sure. Merlin began to pace the few steps his long legs were allowed in the tight space, and occasionally waved a hand as he dismissed a ridiculous idea or irrelevant thought. 

A gold bracelet with an inset yellow stone. Merlin had never seen it, and surely Gaius hadn't, either. That meant someone had planted the evidence, or it had been long forgotten. Merlin should have asked exactly where it had been found. That would have been an immense help in his thought process. It had been hidden, Arthur had said, in Gaius' chamber. Not Merlin's room. Then it could have been stashed in the cluttered bookcase. It was easy to lose things there, if one wasn't careful. Merlin had nearly lost his  favorite neckerchief, and only succeeded in finding it again after accidentally toppling the whole shelf. Luckily he had managed to clear it up before Gaius had seen the extraordinary mess, and - not the time to be reminiscing! 

Merlin slapped his cheeks, squeezing his eyes shut. He needed to concentrate! He threw himself back down onto the mattress, and instantly regretted it when he landed painfully on his bony hip. 

The warlock needn't lie about the bracelet. He really had never seen it before, and only knew of it thanks to Arthur. Merlin would be sure to mention that Arthur had told him, so  Aredian could ask the prince to confirm it. The guards had also borne witness to it, that could help prove his innocence, too. He couldn’t backtrack and say he had seen the horse in the smoke: He'd already said he hadn't seen it. Merlin would have to hold to that, and hope for the best. And for the three girls who claimed to have witnessed those scary things-

He didn't doubt the sincerity in their words. They had truly been terrified, and once this was over Merlin would have to investigate. Although where he would start he had no idea. It was likely that once his innocence was proven Aredian would have found the true sorcerer. He was quite sure he would get no apology, but being freed was a lot better than being burned at stake or hanged. But all he could say was that he hadn't conjured the toads from his mouth, or summoned the dancing goblin, or mustered the faces in the well. All he had was his word, no proof. 

Rolling onto his back, Merlin ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily. His raven hair stuck up every which way, more so than usual. The whole ordeal was very stressful. He wished Gaius would come down to see him, though he knew for a fact that there would be no visitors allowed. His stomach rumbled, alerting him quite unnecessarily to the fact that he had yet to eat. He hadn't had the time for breakfast, since Arthur wanted to be up extra early, despite the fact that the prince passionately  _ hated  _ waking early. He hoped he would at least be delivered a meal. He was sure Gwen would remember and try to send something for him. She was a very considerate person, and he was glad to have her as a friend.

The warlock sat up with a quiet groan and moved back into the huddled position Arthur had found him in. It was the best way to conserve his warmth. As long as he was warm, he was a bit comfortable, and any comfort eased his ill heart. 

He could use magic to escape and sneak himself out of Camelot. It was easy enough, especially under the cover of night. But if he did that, then his fate would be sealed. He would oust himself as a sorcerer, and be hunted down, and burned. He could get away safely, he was sure, but in doing so he would implicate Gaius, w ith w hom he had lived  for several years now. Anyone who had befriended Merlin would be put under suspicion, and Merlin didn't want to risk that. Plus, he needed to stay near Arthur, and that was, as far as he knew, quite difficult to do from beyond the grave.

Merlin buried his face in his hands. Gods, how was he supposed to get himself out of this mess? He really hoped Gaius had some sort of idea - one that didn't include the physician claiming to the be owner of the bracelet or being the sorcerer himself. He doubted  Uther would believe the old man, they were somewhat friends, after all, but Merlin didn't want Gaius to take the chance. Maybe Gaius would find out where the bracelet had come from, or find a way to track down the real sorcerer, or even somehow prove Merlin's innocence another way. Merlin was, indeed, innocent of all but the smoke, which was his horrible mistake. The only time he had regretted using his magic more was when his dear friend Will had taken the blame for the whirlwind that had won the Battle of Ealdor. A pang of guilt tore through Merlin, and he had to take a moment to suppress the memory of Will's death.

The warlock took a few deep breaths to calm himself and clear his head. He needed to think rationally. It was unlikely that he was going to be fed, at least not that night. So it was imperative that Merlin conserve his strength for the upcoming interrogation. What better way to save energy than sleeping?

Merlin lowered himself back down onto the mattress, wishing he had a blanket. For a moment, he considered calling out and asking for one, but the fear of rejection stayed him, and he curled up into a fetal position. It would have to do. It was only one night, after all. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd been through worse. Much worse.

If Aredian thought that Merlin would confess, he was sorely mistaken. 

With steely determination, Merlin closed his eyes . He would sleep through the night, wake refreshed, and face Aredian . His innocence proven, Merlin would then walk free and greet Gaius with a smile on his face, and do everything he already decided he would do. That was the thought that sent Merlin into a  peaceful slumber.

Things had gone a bit more smoothly in his head, he supposed.

What brought him back into awareness was not chirping birds, or warm sunlight on his face, or even a rude kick in the ribs accompanied by a loud insult from a certain grouchy prince  on the days he was late. Merlin bolted upright, spluttering and raising his hands defensively. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why he was there. He shivered from the cold water, icy tendrils trickling down his face and dripping onto his shoulders and front. Quite a bit managed to sneak past his shirt collar and rake down his pale skin, which prickled with gooseflesh.

He glared up at Aredian, who dropped the bucket now that Merlin had woken. "What time is it?" he asked,  noting the two impassive guards standing on either side of the cell door.

"Time for you to confess," Aredian said quite menacingly. He motioned towards Merlin as he exited the cell, and the guards moved forward and hauled the manservant to his feet. He was led to a room farther back in the dungeons. The air was staler and colder, and Merlin didn't like either of those at all. Being wet and cold was far worse than being  _ just  _ wet or  _ just  _ cold. No doubt Merlin would be sick for a few days after this interrogation. Gaius would not be pleased.

The guards sat Merlin forcibly in the chair that was situated in the center of the room. There was a fire going in the grate near the wall, for which he was grateful, as it offered a little warmth.  Aredian stood beside it, fiddling with something that Merlin couldn't see. The two guards procured a pair of manacles from somewhere, and Merlin resignedly held up his hands and allowed them to do what they must.  He was a bit surprised that they tied his forearms to the arms of the chair with a length of rope, but as they were careful not to let it bite into his skin he didn't comment. Then the guards left, most likely to stand outside and wait for further orders.

There was a long beat of silence before Aredian finally spoke, glancing over his shoulder without turning.

"Now, then...Merlin, is it?"

Merlin nodded almost imperceptibly, trying to suppress his shivering.

Aredian smirked. "I understand that you're a sorcerer?"

"I'm not a sorcerer." It wasn't a lie, technically. Merlin was a warlock.

"And do you expect me to believe that, Merlin?"

"Yes."

Aredian turned, boots scraping against the gritty floor, and clasped his hands behind his back. "Are you quite sure, Merlin?" he asked, approaching slowly. Merlin shifted uncomfortably, aware that Aredian was holding something behind his back, but he kept his eyes resolutely on the floor. "Because I have witnesses, Merlin. And I have very persuasive...methods, Merlin."

Merlin shook his head. "I did nothing. I do not practice sorcery."

"Have you ever used magic?"

"No."

"Do you own any magical instruments?"

"No."

"Does Gaius? Did he teach you?"

"No. And no."

"Humph," Aredian said. "You were named as a witness to the horse in the smoke, and yet you did not see it." Merlin didn't reply, knowing he wasn't expected to. He discreetly tested how tightly his arms were fastened. "I can only assume that you were the one who made it appear."

"I didn't," Merlin said heatedly, but as he said it he realized that he had denied it too quickly, too defensively. And Aredian realized it, too.

His eyes gleamed cunningly. "The faces in the well was your doing?"

"No," Merlin whispered fiercely. His face and the backs of his eyeballs burned with frustration and fear. Aredian was not letting up, and Merlin had no chance to defend himself, to dispel any  falsities.  

"The goblin in the flames?"

"It wasn't me."

Aredian bent at the waist so that he was mere inches from Merlin, staring into his eyes. "The toads?" he prompted, blowing his sour breath into Merlin's face.

Merlin fought the urge to recoil, gagging. "No toads  from my mouth," he said. "And I brought no toads forth from another's."

Aredian straightened, but did not break eye contact.

Merlin tried again. "None of it was me. I'm no sorcerer, I swear it. I am innocent."

"But do you have proof?"

"Do you?" Merlin retorted.

A mistake.

Merlin hissed sharply as Aredian's  hand made contact with his cheek, whipping his head to one side. The chair nearly toppled over, but Aredian clapped his hand over Merlin's shoulder, steadying him. He tasted coppery blood: he'd bitten his tongue. But that didn't stop him from glaring up at Aredian through his dark lashes. He felt a hot trickle course down his cheek.  Aredian's ring had cut him.

"Don't test me, Merlin," Aredian warned. "You will confess. Sooner or later, you will. They all do."

A chord of fear struck Merlin's insides, but he tried to hide it. He knew Aredian was only trying to scare him. He had no proof. Gaius and Arthur wouldn't stand for such treatment. Uther would listen to them, surely. Even his hatred of magic...Oh, he would probably listen to Aredian, who was he kidding?

His only hope was to hold out until the true sorcerer had been found.

"If you're not the sorcerer," Aredian said with faux thoughtfulness, "as you claim, then who is it?"

"I don't know," Merlin answered easily. It was the truth, after all. 

"Then the only possibility is that the sorcerer is you!"

"Your logic is infallible," the warlock muttered sarcastically before he could stop himself. He braced himself for another hit, but none came. Merlin reluctantly looked up into Aredian's sneering face. 

"You are an enemy of this kingdom," Aredian stated.

"No," Merlin said.

"You are from Ealdor, correct? From Essetir? Is that not Cenred's kingdom?"

"Yes," Merlin admitted. "But I am not an enemy. I serve Prince Arthur."

Aredian replied breezily, "Do you? And does Prince Arthur know of your magic?"

"I have none."

"Have you ever enchanted Arthur?"

"No."

"Have you ever used magic against anyone in Camelot?"

"No. I'm not a sorcerer, Aredian!"

"Is your conscience clear, Merlin?" Aredian asked, stepping back.

Merlin's brow furrowed in confusion at the unexpected question. "Yes," he  sounded unsure.

That was exactly what Aredian wanted. "You have magic."

"No!"

Merlin exhaled heavily through his nose, closing his eyes to collect his wits and composure. "Can I have a drink of water, please?" Though he welcomed the heat from the flames nearby, the smoke was beginning to burn his throat, and he was quite parched.

Aredian smiled cordially. "Of course," he said. "Once you've confessed."

The warlock scowled. "Then I will die of thirst, Aredian."

The witchfinder shrugged, obviously enjoying Merlin's discomfort. Not for the first time, Merlin found himself wishing Gaius and Arthur would hurry up and find a way to free him from Aredian's clutches. He felt a headache coming on.

Then the cordial smile faded, and  Aredian glared down at Merlin coldly. Finally he brought both hands to the front, revealing what he had been holding. Merlin paled. "Ah," Aredian sneered. "So you know what this lovely little piece is?"

Merlin tried to look away from it, but his eyes were stuck fast to the device. He'd never actually seen one used before, but he'd seen the aftermath. On several occasions, caught thieves had come to Gaius after their punishments, and Merlin himself had treated a few of them when Gaius was out. The mutilations were always gruesome, and the memory of it made him sick to his stomach. 

"I'm not a sorcerer," Merlin said firmly. Well, he tried to say it firmly. His voice wavered with apprehensive fear.

Aredian smirked knowingly. "You'll have to confess, Merlin. The sooner you do, the less persuasion I'll be forced to give."

"You mean torture," Merlin growled. His fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into his fleshy palms.

Aredian, seeing this, clucked his tongue  disapprovingly. "Now, Merlin, that just won't do."

"I'm not a sorcerer!" Merlin's voice rose to frantic pitch as Aredian stepped forward. He abandoned his pretense of keeping calm, too scared of the pain that was to come. His magic was boiling beneath his skin, demanding to be released, to protect, but no matter what Merlin couldn't allow that. If he did, it spelled his doom. He couldn't let it. So instead he opted for physical strength, which he thoroughly lacked. The ropes did not give way, nor did the manacles, though the warlock did manage to rub away at least one layer of skin. 

Aredian watched for a moment, not bothering to hide his amusement. After a moment, Merlin went still, and jerked his head back to stare at the witchfinder with surprising defiance. But that did not deter Aredian in any way, and he approached the boy.

Merlin waited, coiling every muscle in his body. He didn't dare to even breathe. Once Aredian stepped into reach, he took the opportunity. Merlin's foot darted out, catching the man in his knee with an audible crack. As Aredian grunted and doubled over to grasp his leg, more in surprise than in pain, Merlin's other foot shot straight up, catching him underneath the chin. Aredian stumbled back, dropping the iron thumbscrew with a clatter and clutching his chin. His face purpled in rage.

But Merlin wasn't finished. He dropped his foot over the thumbscrew that was meant to crush his fingers and dragged it toward him, kicking it underneath his chair to keep it from  Aredian. In any other situation, Merlin would have been quite proud of himself. But there was no time to revel in his small victory. Though he had managed to get the device out of the man's reach, he was still quite stuck. He  hadn't thought he would get it, and thus had not planned for what to do past that part. 

Aredian and Merlin glared at each other for a long beat. Then Aredian smiled sickly. Merlin swallowed  convulsively, fear closing his throat.  Aredian had a very dangerous look, and it scared him. It downright terrified him. And Aredian knew it.

"Oh, Merlin," Aredian sighed, as though Merlin was a child who had tracked mud all through the house. "You really should not have done that. Now, spare yourself some pain and give it back."

Merlin shook his head, untrusting of his voice. He tried to hide how quickly he was breathing, praying that Aredian couldn't hear his pounding heart. He knew he couldn't win this round, and more likely than not all of his fingers would be excruciatingly reduced to crushed, useless appendages, but it certainly wouldn't stop him from stalling.

"Merlin," Aredian sang, cocking his head to one side with a wry smile. 

"I'm not a sorcerer," Merlin said shakily,  desperately. "Stop wasting time on me and go look for the real one!"

Aredian laughed heartily. Only his humor was instantly replaced with an infuriated scowl, and before Merlin could blink Aredian had brought his foot up and slammed it into Merlin's unprotected gut. All the air whooshed out of him, and he toppled backwards,  head slamming into the floor. Merlin saw stars, but swimming in his  peripheral vision was  Aredian's head as he stooped to pick up the thumbscrew. Suddenly Merlin's lungs expanded again, and he gulped gratefully, relishing the stale air he had previously condemned. 

His vision cleared up, and the pain from his head and stomach hit him hard, forcing him to moan. It tapered off in dismay at the triumphant sneer of Aredian's as it penetrated his line of sight. In the witchfinder's hands was the cruel instrument.

Aredian, with surprising strength, pulled the chair upright. Merlin swayed dizzily, but sucked in a breath and held it, desperately fighting to stay his tears. Gods, it would take weeks for his fingers to heal! He couldn't do anything without his hands, it wasn't fair, it just  _ wasn't _ , and no one was there to stop Aredian from going too far, and Merlin was going to  _ die  _ from the fright of it all, and all he really wanted was to be back in Ealdor tending the fields beside his mother. But that was not  to  be.

It took a moment for Merlin to realize that Aredian was trying to pry his  fist open. Merlin clenched his hand even tighter, drawing half-moons of blood. Merlin  attempted  to kick  Aredian again, but the man was prepared for it and easily stomped down on the boy's foot. 

Somehow Aredian was stronger than Merlin, which was a bit insulting, but Merlin quickly put it off to the fact that he hadn't eaten in over a day. Cold metal slipped over his hand, and struggle as he might Merlin could not stop what was happening. The tears spilled, unwanted, and the dastardly Aredian  _ laughed_.

Merlin truly hated him.

"Are you ready to confess, boy?"

"I'm not a sorcerer," Merlin whispered fervently, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see  Aredian 's  sadistic pleasure in his fear and pain. His fingers tried to curl back into a fist, but the cold iron clamped over his knuckles halted that idea in its tracks.

Merlin suddenly froze, a curious expression crossing his face. Aredian's smirk faded a bit, seeing this. Where had the fear gone? He decided it might be fruitful to watch for a moment before doing anything.

There was a niggling sensation somewhere in Merlin's mind. He couldn't pinpoint the exact location, and it was not his magic. It was someone else's. The sorcerer's? No, he recognized it now. He couldn't deal with him now, there was nothing the Great Dragon could do to help him. So Merlin shoved the concerned tendril of thought away, needing to focus on the present. Luckily, the dragon seemed to realize this and backed off, though not without a whispered, " _Merlin_...!"

Merlin remained completely still, aware that Aredian was no longer touching him. If he could stay still long enough, perhaps Aredian might -

The young warlock jolted, and nearly choked on his sharp inhale. Eyes snapping open, he tilted his head back and looked accusingly at Aredian, who was once more sneering. "Trying to contact a friend?" he asked, turning the screw that tightened the clamp.

Merlin furrowed his brow. His knuckles were beginning to feel the pressure, and it was uncomfortable, but not yet painful. "No," he answered.

"No one can help you, Merlin," Aredian said, twisting the metal turn piece. 

Merlin winced.

"So you may as well confess now, boy." Another three-sixty turn.

His fingers began to throb, and Merlin knew that the blood flow had been cut off. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, determined not to implicate himself or anyone else. He just had to hold out until Gaius and Arthur could figure it out. Just a bit longer, surely. His lower lip trembled slightly, but this time he managed to keep the tears at bay. Just a bit longer. Just a bit longer. He repeated the mantra, trying to ignore his torture r.

But that was a bit difficult, as Aredian turned the screw not once, not twice, but three times more in quick succession. 

Merlin tried to bite back a cry, but a whimper escaped the back of his throat nonetheless. Pain radiated from his fingers, racing to the tips of his fingers before violently rebounding and tearing back in the opposite direction, traveling up his arm to pierce at his heart. A tremor rocked his body and he instinctively tried to curl into himself, but the ropes of course held fast.

"Ah, there it is," Aredian chuckled. 

"St-stop," Merlin uttered hoarsely. He didn't know whether he was addressing the witchfinder or his own pain. Not that it mattered, as neither showed any intention of granting his request.

"Confess."

"No," he moaned, leaning forward. He felt as though he were going to be sick, and for once was grateful that his stomach was empty. Just a bit longer. Just a bit longer.

Aredian was having none of it. He pushed Merlin upright with one hand while simultaneously turning the thumbscrew with the other. 

Merlin threw his head back with an anguished moan, nearly drowning out the first crunch. 

"Which finger was that, love?" Aredian asked through a giggle. "Your middle? Oh, let's see how far we can go, eh?"

"No," Merlin whimpered pitifully.

He was ignored in favor of another twist, and another, and another. His screams grew shriller with each one, and the sound of breaking bones more intense. He was sure his middle finger was already ground into a fine powder, and had been followed quickly enough by his first and fourth fingers, and then his smallest one.

By the time Aredian stepped back to admire his handiwork, Merlin was gasping harshly; he was trembling all over as though he were feverish; he was sweating; and he had tears streaming down his face. He was going to be quite sick, he was sure, and in an attempt to prevent that he stayed as still as possible. Coincidentally, no movement meant that his hand, and by that respect his crushed fingers, would not be jarred, and so he was in less agony than he could have been. 

"A bit purple, don't you think?" Aredian asked. "Ready to confess, then? The pain stops now, if you'll confess, Merlin."

Merlin tried to catch his breath so he could reply. The pain-induced haze covering his mind made it hard  to remember why he wasn't supposed to stop his suffering. But after a few more breaths he felt a little better, and then he remembered that he couldn't confess to being a sorcerer because that meant death. Pain at least meant he was alive. Just a bit longer, and Gaius would come for him. Gaius would fret over him, give him some water and a nasty tonic that made the pain go away. Gaius would help him. Just a bit longer.

"Merlin?" Aredian prompted in a singsong voice.

He furrowed his brow. That was his name. Oh, right. He'd been asked to confess. He should answer that now. Or shouldn't he?

When Aredian prodded his crushed hand and sent another scream-inducing wave of anguish through his body, Merlin decided it might be wise to answer.

"I'm not a sorcerer!" he half sobbed, doubled over in his restraints. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not," he moaned, rocking a bit. Gods, the pain was unbearable. Who the hell invented such torture?! 

Aredian sighed and bent at the waist. He lifted Merlin's chin so that he could look into his red-rimmed eyes. "If you don't confess, Merlin," he said  softly , "I'll have to make your other hand match."

Merlin  inhaled sharply. No, no, he couldn't go through that again. He would really rather die. He should confess and face the flames. After all, he did have magic, and that was illegal. Arthur could take care of himself, right? He was a strong lad, bit of a girl inside, but what man wasn't? Merlin's destiny wasn't that important, anyway. His life wasn't so important. Going through all that pain with only a slim hope of rescue? What about ending it now? Less pain versus more pain wasn't really much of a conundrum. The answer should have been simple. So what was he waiting for?

"I'm...I'm," Merlin stammered, feeling tears prick his eyes again.

Aredian smiled a smile that might have been meant to be encouraging, but only made him look like a wolf.  The same curious expression that had come across the boy's face earlier returned, and his blue eyes grew distant. Aredian scowled. 

The niggling magical sensation was back, and Merlin thought perhaps the presence was speaking to him, but for some odd reason he couldn't make out the words. But he could feel its owner's emotions. There was alarm, and concern, and some sense of urgency. It demanded attention, and Merlin tried to give his, he really did, but he was so tired, and so hurt, and all he wanted was for it all to stop. The voice seemed to understand. It became gentle and comforting. Not like his mother's voice, but it was familiar, one he knew, and that was, perhaps, what gave him strength again.

"I'm," he uttered at last, blinking himself back into the present and looking at Aredian's anticipating face, "I'm - not - a sor -"

His words were cut off by a rough hand around his throat. It squeezed hard, stopping his airflow, and Merlin writhed  in his bonds. Air! Air!  ( _ Just a bit longer_.) Air!

Then he was gasping for breath, the hand gone. It had moved down to his hand, and for a hysterical moment Merlin readied his magic. But that niggling voice penetrated his thoughts, and for the first time he understood: " _No, Merlin_!" and so he  heeded it. Aredian loosened the thumbscrew and removed it roughly , hurling it against the wall in a sort of tantrum. With the pressure removed, the blood began to flow through his fingers again, and Merlin moaned in pain. And he'd thought pins and needles were bad. 

Breathing harshly, Merlin tried not to move, knowing that it lessened the pain. His eyes slid to where Aredian stood in front of the fire, sweating and looking very cross indeed. Merlin needed something. No, he needed some _one_...If he could just remember the name, he could ask Aredian to fetch him. Then it came to him: "G...Gaius," he croaked out.

Aredian turned and glared at him, then scoffed incredulously. "What do you think this is, Merlin?" he asked, approaching him again. "A tea party? You don't get medical treatment. You will confess, and then you will burn. There is nothing else for you."

Merlin blinked uncomprehendingly. "You s-said..." he took a breath, "w-water."

The witchfinder's lip curled up in distaste. "If you'd like some water," he said, "confess now. I have some right here." Aredian stepped to one side, to a table that somehow Merlin hadn't noticed. He picked up the goblet and pitcher, and poured some crystalline liquid into the cup. Merlin watched, entranced. The man stepped back to where he was before Merlin, staring at him daringly.

Merlin's eyes were glued to the goblet in Aredian's hand. They followed as Aredian moved it to his own mouth, and he drank deeply. Water trickled from the corners of his mouth - Merlin suspected on purpose, but he didn't have the strength to call him out - and then he lowered it with a refreshed  sigh .

"Well," he said, "you want some, yes? Confess, Merlin, and you shall have it."

Merlin closed his eyes mournfully. "I'm not," he whispered, "a s-s-sorc-"

He was cut off again, this time by the startlingly loud clang of the goblet striking the wall. It bounced off and skittered across the floor, leaving a trail of water droplets in its wake. Rivulets of water streaked down the wall where most of it had splattered. Merlin's heart ached deeply; he felt as though he had lost something precious to him.

There was a knock at the door.

"What?!" Aredian spat, turning to it as it opened.

A hesitant guard poked his head in. Merlin accepted the brief respite and tried to even out his breathing, tried to ignore the pain radiating from his poor knuckles.

"The king invites you to dine with him," the guard informed him.

Aredian suddenly became composed. "Very well, then," he said pleasantly, smoothing the front of his shirt. "I will be there shortly. Please tell King Uther I shall attend."

The guard bowed stiffly and hurried away, obviously shaken by what he had seen. It wasn't until after his departure that Merlin suddenly remembered him: It was Henry, the guard who was often posted near the kitchen. Merlin always made sure to greet him and exchange pleasantries, even on the days he was running late. Henry was a nice man, Merlin had always thought, always smiling. He was sorry he had to see him in such a state. 

"Well, Merlin," Aredian said. "Looks like we'll have to continue later, huh? Boy, how time flies when you're having fun!"

Merlin didn't agree. It felt as though he'd been trapped in that room with the torturer for days, perhaps weeks. He was glad to be rid of the man's presence. He couldn't find the strength to reply, too drained both physically and emotionally.

"Guards," Aredian said, opening the door. He waved a hand vaguely in Merlin's direction without looking back. He was going to prepare himself for dinner with the king. Unfortunately he hadn't made much progress to report, but he always got results sooner or later.

Two different guards from before entered the room. One of them stiffened at the sight of the prince's manservant. Merlin thought he knew him, but he was too tired to put the face to a name. He didn't react as they approached, but flinched visibly when they began to untie him. Merlin knew he was going to be put back into his cell, where it was cold and damp, and he didn't particularly want that. If he could just rest by the fire, he was sure he would feel better. Then again, he was hot and sticky, and he wanted a cold bath. No, he was quite sure that he was cold and wanted to be beside the fire.

But before he could request that, the guards were hauling him onto his feet. Merlin suddenly realized just how  exhausted he was , and his legs buckled underneath him. It seemed that he weighed nothing, as the guards hardly strained at all to keep him upright. Without waiting for him to regain his balance, the men on either side of him started off, leading him back to his cell. No, hold on, that wasn't his cell. He wanted to go back to  _ his  _ cell, not the nearest one to the torture chamber! No fair, not fair, no, no.

Merlin wasn't quite sure whether he voiced his opinion on the matter, but if he had they ignored him and locked him in. After they marched away, the young warlock realized that they hadn't taken off the manacles. Oh, cruel fate. 

He was on his knees in the center of the cell, where the kinder of the two  had lowered him. There was no mattress in this cell, but there was some straw that could provide a bit of bedding. Merlin scooted closer to it, careful not to jostle his hand at all. The kinder guard had been holding him up from his injured side, and he was very gentle about the whole thing, and though Merlin couldn't remember him at all he was sure he should thank him. What a nice person.

Merlin wondered whether Gaius would come to visit him. It seemed like the sort of thing Gaius would do, didn't it, coming to see Merlin. Especially when he was hurt. But he hoped Gaius wouldn't yell at him again. He was sure that if he explained that he could have used magic against  Aredian but didn't, Gaius might be proud of him and wouldn't be angry with him anymore. Why was Gaius angry at him? Oh, right, his magic. Maybe Gaius would be proud of him for not using it against Aredian. 

The confused warlock s huffled  on his knees again, soiling the legs of his trousers, and rested his back against the cool wall. He shivered, but at least he was facing the bars. That way he could watch for when Gaius came.

He was very thirsty. Aredian hadn't given him any water because he wouldn't confess. That was a bit rude. Gaius would not be pleased when he heard about that. Merlin could have used his magic to get the water, but he didn't. Maybe Gaius would be proud of him for that, and wouldn't yell at him again.

Suddenly Merlin remembered that his fingers hurt. Right, they had been crushed by a very evil device wielded by a very evil man. He spared a glance down at them and immediately regretted it due to the nausea that washed over him. They were swollen as thick as sausages, quite a bit thicker at his knuckles, and an incredibly vibrant purple hue. The skin, stretched to its limit over the appendages, was shiny in the torchlight that streamed into the cell. 

And then Merlin, feeling something was wrong, raised his good left hand to touch his forehead. Damn. A fever, and a high one at that. He heaved a sigh. He needed a heap of blankets, of which he had none. He needed water, and food. Gaius wasn't coming for him, that was for sure. What had he been thinking? The one speaking inside his mind had been the dragon, though he was gone now and Merlin had no idea how to contact him. No doubt the dragon would be demanding an explanation when Merlin was out of danger, but so far he had no conceivable notion of how that would come about without the help of his magic . Really, the thin shreds of hope he had gathered around himself all inevitably led to Gaius and Arthur, who had promised to find something that would prove his innocence. 

Merlin lifted his hands over his head, ignoring the pain that that brought. He needed to reduce the swelling. The young warlock brought his knees to his chest and rested his head on them, feeling exceptionally drained.  _ I  really might die_. The thought stemmed from nowhere, but  truth rang through it and it scared him. Despairingly, Merlin began to cry quietly, shoulders shaking. His chained hands slowly lowered as he lost the strength to keep them up, and soon they were resting on the floor in front of him.  _Please_ , Merlin thought, praying to no one in particular, _please save me_.

Finally, having exhausted himself quite thoroughly, Merlin drifted off into an uneasy sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

He was glad that he was prodded awake rather than jolted with the water bucket. Though the boot to his ribs hurt a bit, it was nothing compared to having his fingers caught in the thumbscrew and crushed mercilessly. The deep bruise on his stomach and the bump on the back of his head paled in comparison to the dull throb that came from his numbing fingers. He knew that wasn't good, but he was relieved that the pain had faded, if only slightly.

Merlin groaned as he looked up and saw Aredian smiling tightly down at him. "Well, most people about this time would be finishing up their morning meals. We've got a bit of fun left before lunch. Unless, of course, you'd rather confess?"

The young warlock cleared his parched throat painfully and parted his  chapped lips. "I'd rather die of thirst."

"Good. And die you shall, Merlin,"  Aredian answered cheerily. "Guards."

Merlin exhaled slowly as the two armed men approached. Once more he was dizzily pulled to his feet, though his feet seemed unable to cooperate. That did not deter the guards. They dragged him back into the last room, where the torture took place. There was something different about the room, but Merlin's muddled mind couldn't figure it out.

He was drawn out of his puzzlement when the shackles were unlocked. Merlin blinked in surprise, then furrowed his brow in confusion. There was something wrong, something was going to happen - And why were they removing his jacket? The fire was going in the grate again, but the room wasn't hot. In fact, now that his jacket was gone and they were untying his neckerchief Merlin was feeling cold. Aredian was watching the guards undress him intently, with a lustful look in his eyes. It made Merlin decidedly uncomfortable. Before he could remember to resist, his shirt was off, pulled free from his arms. Merlin was a bit worried that he would feel the hurt from the material sliding over his shattered fingers, but no pain came. 

Aredian gestured the guards forward and tossed his hand up vaguely as he turned away, clasping his hands behind his back. Merlin scowled, completely unnerved. What was different? Oh, yes, that was it. The chair was gone. Would he have to stand for this interrogation? He didn't think he could. Oh, no, he would have help, apparently.

One guard lifted his arms over his head, and the other securely fastened them into the hanging manacles. The cold metal bit into his skin, and Merlin was forced to stand on his tiptoes to avoid that. Had the manacles always been there? He supposed they could have been; he hadn't noticed the table the day before. Too focused on  Aredian, he supposed.

The guards were dismissed, and the witchfinder once more turned to Merlin. His eyes raked down Merlin's exposed torso. "You should really get out more, my boy," he said. 

"You're right," Merlin agreed, tilting his head back to look up at the suspended manacles. Perhaps there was a weak link he could exploit. He saw none. "So let me out of here and we can go and bask in the sun together, perhaps go for a swim."

Aredian chuckled. "Good to see you still have your humor, Merlin. Now," he said, reaching down to his belt and pulling something free, "I'll give you one last chance to confess."

Merlin's eyes lingered for a long moment on the whip Aredian displayed. Then he raised them to Aredian's. "I'm not a sorcerer," he replied at long last.

"As I thought," he muttered, though he seemed rather pleased.

Merlin's pulse quickened, and he tried to swallow but his mouth was so incredibly dry. He felt the telltale pounding of dehydration behind his skull. If he didn't get water soon he really might die. If the whipping didn't kill him first.

He tried to hide the shudder that raced through his body, but Aredian saw it. He grinned nastily. "I did give you a chance," he shrugged, moving behind Merlin.

Once he was out of sight, Merlin closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. If it became too frantic he would hyperventilate, and that would lead to unconsciousness, and Merlin didn't think he wanted that. He was so caught up in these thoughts that he was completely unprepared for the first strike.

He cried out, more in surprise than anything else, and scrambled to regain his footing. The fingers of his left hand flexed, already stinging from blood loss. A moment later, the red welt that was sure to be forming diagonally across his back blossomed with pain. Merlin gritted his teeth, determined not to give Aredian the satisfaction of his screams - or his confession.

There was a hissing sound, like a snake (of course there was a snake: it was Aredian), and then the crack of the leather whip smacking against flesh. Merlin's flesh. And the agony bloomed from it, much more quickly than it had the first time. Merlin's knees buckled a bit, but without a sound Merlin pushed himself back onto the balls of his feet.

"Oh ho," Aredian gave an impressed laugh. "Very good, Merlin. Let's see how far you get until you break."

Merlin could only contain his yelps of pain for two more whips. On the fifth, Merlin whined. He'd never made such a pathetic sound before. He hated Aredian all the more for making it come from him. Aredian only laughed, and the whip was brought down again. Merlin gave a harsh cry, and his legs could no longer support him. He hung from his wrists, the iron manacles biting evilly into his flesh. It hurt nearly as much as the agonizing red lines that crisscrossed his back.

How many times had he been struck? He hadn't been counting. More than five, he was sure. Maybe Aredian was done -

Another hiss and crack, followed instantly by pain. Merlin gave an anguished cry, weeping freely. "Stop!" he moaned, struggling to place his feet underneath him. "Stop, please..."

"Are you ready to confess?"

"I can't!" Merlin sobbed, jerking on the chains that held him fast. He only succeeded in creating entrancing red rivulets that ran down the lengths of his arms, snaking down, down, down, and - 

Another hiss and crack. 

"I CAN'T!"

His back was on fire. For a moment he thought that maybe he had imagined the whip and he was actually being mutilated by a long strand of flames. It made sense, didn't it, for fire to be used as a whip. Certainly possible, if you just held the end that was less hot. Merlin drew in a ragged breath, having been unaware that he had not been respiring. His thoughts cleared up a bit, and he dismissed the ridiculous notion of the fire whip. His back was bleeding, he was certain, he could feel it soaking into the waist of his trousers. Gods, it  _ hurt_!

"Hmm," Aredian said, reappearing in front of him. Merlin blinked the excess water from his eyes, trying his best to scowl. His stomach cramped, wanting to vomit, but Merlin knew that there was nothing to bring up. He panted raggedly, wishing for even a sip of water. He wanted a pain tonic. He wanted Gaius, he really needed him. Merlin would never use magic again if Gaius would just come and  _ help him_, for Gods' sakes!

Merlin tried to speak, to tell Aredian that he was not a sorcerer (How useful that tidbit of information had been thus far!), but all that came out was a short squeak. Merlin coughed and wheezed, but if anything it only served to make him feel worse.

"I do believe that they're about ready by now, don't you?" Aredian said, coiling the whip. He didn't seem to notice the blood that was smeared onto his palm, but Merlin did, and it made him feel all the more sick. The flail was tucked back into Aredian's belt.

Merlin's mind raced. Who were _they_? What were _they_ ready for? Did he mean the court was waiting for his confession? He already knew that. Aredian had never brought it up earlier, so why then? Would they condemn him to burn without a confession? If they didn't, Aredian would probably kill him anyway. Or Merlin would die of infection. He was still feverish, he was sure, and it would only get worse the longer it was allowed to fester in his wounds. 

Hadn't Gaius and Arthur figured anything out?

Aredian walked over to the fire grate. "Which should we start with, Merlin?"

He furrowed his brow, feeling quite dizzy. Which? They? Who? He wondered how much blood he was losing.

As though reading his mind, Aredian glanced back at Merlin. "We should probably cauterize those awful wounds, Merlin. I'd really hate for you to bleed out here."

Oh.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

Not good.

Aredian pulled one of the rods Merlin finally noticed out of the  grate. The end of it was white hot, having been roasting for quite a long while. There was no feasible way Merlin could control his breathing. As soon as his eyes landed on the tool, he found himself unable to breathe, and struggled for air. He began to hyperventilate.

"Now, now," Aredian crooned, circling around to Merlin's back. "It'll only hurt a lot...Do you confess?"

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, and tears leaked out. Some distant part of his mind was a bit surprised he had any left. His fear nearly overrode his rationality, but he resolutely shook his head. He couldn’t confess. He would die if he did. But he would die if he didn't, either. It was only a matter of when, Merlin knew now. Maybe Gaius and Arthur would finally find some sort of proof, and they would rescue him, but he was likely too far gone to be saved even with Gaius' skill. He was doomed to die an agonizing death no matter how he looked at it.

A choked sob escaped his throat. Merlin pressed his lips together and hung his head, defeated, but not quite. He was going to die, he knew, but Aredian would never have the satisfaction of his confession. His dark head shook back and forth weakly.

Aredian, for once, didn't sneer at the boy. He pressed the molten poker to one of the deeper lashes on his back. It sizzled ominously loud, and Merlin writhed, screaming. His back arched, but it was futile. Aredian only pushed the poker harder. After a moment, he pulled away, and Merlin sagged, hysterically crying with each panting breath.

The witchfinder studied the burn, relishing the smell of cooked  flesh, sweat, and fear. The cauterization  was definitely third degree, and all the exposed blood vessels were sealed off. That particular wound would no longer bleed. His eyes fell onto the next one, and he glanced quickly at the end of the rod to make sure it was still hot. Of course it was, and it would be for a while yet, but the eerie glow of the metal was fun to look at. It was pressed mercilessly  to the laceration.

Merlin howled and arched away again, but Aredian pushed the searing poker against his flesh. The boy sagged before Aredian had pulled away, and the witchfinder quickly stepped around to make sure he was still conscious. He was, but his eyes fluttered and rolled back occasionally. He seemed to be on the verge of losing himself.

"Ready to confess?" Aredian asked.

Merlin's only reply was a short sob. Aredian moved back to the fire grate and replaced the poker. He sighed in disappointment. "I will give you one. Last. Chance," he said, removing a very different rod. 

It was a bit blurry from Merlin's distance, but after he tried to concentrate for a moment he finally recognized it. He'd seen it on several occasions, but he'd never given much thought to it.  It'd just always been around - in the stables. Why did Aredian have a stable brand? It was used to stamp the  Pendragon crest on the royal horses. For the life of him, Merlin couldn't figure it out. He wasn't a horse, Aredian wasn't a horse, and a cursory glance around the room revealed no horse that he could see. 

Aredian stepped closer. "Well?" he prompted, raising the white-hot brand so that Merlin could see it clearly. Definitely the  Pendragon crest, the rearing dragon was very distinct. The warlock could feel the heat radiating off of it. 

Merlin moved his eyes to look at  Aredian. The pain he was in had yet to stop, but it was considerably less than it had been as he was receiving his lashes and burns. Merlin couldn't remember what it felt like to not be hurting. He couldn't remember the taste of water or how it felt as it ran down his throat. He couldn’t even remember Gaius' face. Surely if he confessed everything would get better? 

_ (Well think, boy, think!) _

No, he couldn't confess. Gaius didn't want that. Merlin didn't want that. 

Though his head felt oddly disconnected, Merlin managed to shake it in a negative motion.

Aredian's lips tightened into a thin white ribbon. The corners lifted in a smirk, as though he were  _ enjoying _ causing pain. Sadistic dastard. 

The brand was moved into a horizontal position, the searing design held perpendicularly mere inches from Merlin's chest. Merlin didn't blink. He was too tired to anticipate any longer. He did toss his head back and shriek as the brand made contact with his skin. It felt as though days had passed before it was pulled away, but even then the wound seared angrily. It bit into his nerves, the pain exploding through his chest, endlessly, endlessly, endlessly.

Merlin's eyes rolled back. The darkness was crowding in, threatening to consume his entire being.

"No, no!" 

Merlin gasped, eyes opening again and wandering aimlessly until they landed on Aredian. The witchfinder was slapping his cheek, keeping him conscious. 

"Do you confess, Merlin?"

Merlin shuddered. The blissful darkness was beckoning him. But Aredian distracted him again. 

"Do you confess?" he repeated. His voice had become a snarl, and he grabbed Merlin's jaw and squeezed it tightly. "Confess, or I will have to interrogate Gaius in your stead."

That got Merlin's attention. He froze uncertainly, searching Aredian's face for a bluff. He was suddenly very awake, the pain pushed to the back of his mind as his panic fought its way forward. All Aredian had to do was claim that Merlin had named Gaius, and Gaius would be brought in and tortured like he had been. Gaius was an old man; he could not hope to withstand such treatment for long. 

"Confess, Merlin, confess!" Aredian shook him violently, sending waves of pain running through his body and making him dizzy.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Merlin was sure that if he had any tears left, they would be pouring down his cheeks. He was scared, and part of him wanted to let Gaius get taken in, just so his own pain might stop for a while. But that part was quickly quashed by his love for his mentor.

"I  c'nf'ss," he whispered brokenly.

"What was that?" Aredian sneered gleefully. "Sorry, could you speak up, Merlin?"

"I...I c'nf-f'ss," Merlin croaked out with more than a little difficulty.

"Good, good. " Aredian nodded, releasing Merlin in satisfaction. "Guards," he called in a pleasant voice. "Send word to the council that I will be bringing the sorcerer to confess his crimes. And you two, come and make him presentable, if you please."

Merlin didn't resist. He didn't react. He was soundless and unresponsive. Aredian watched coldly, arms folded over his chest, as the guards lowered Merlin to the floor. His shirt was slipped over his head and his arms forced through the sleeves, but his jacket and neckerchief were left forgotten. The previous manacles were locked over his wrists, this time behind his back. The blood had already, after just a few moments, begun to soak into the blue material, leaving dark splotches and lines. Aredian rather liked it.

Suddenly Merlin found himself in the throne room, surrounded by people. He blinked and frowned, looking around. He couldn't remember being taken there; he must have blacked out for several minutes, at the least. Judging from the rather painful light streaming in from the windows on his right, it was a little after midday. He'd been tortured for nearly two days by then, maybe three, counting the time he had spent locked alone in the cells. He could hear whispering around him, see several people shuffling uncomfortably, but he couldn't seem to get his eyes to focus. The floor blurred and refocused with a dizzying effect. 

His head was yanked up by his dark locks, and his breath hitched in surprise. The room tilted dangerously to one side, and he would have fallen had it not been for Aredian's tight hold. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin could see a figure that looked suspiciously like Gaius, and he wanted to call out to him, but found he couldn't.

"Confess!" Aredian said. "Confess!"

Confess what? Merlin moved his eyes upwards slightly, but couldn't see Aredian because he was behind him. So he shifted his gaze forward. The king was sitting in his throne, watching Merlin expectantly. Morgana sat beside him, and Arthur was standing before his own chair on the other side. Both looked utterly shocked and horrified.

Ah, the sorcery. Right. Or else Gaius would be tortured and killed, too.

"I..." Merlin's voice cracked. He still hadn't had his drink. He felt a little betrayed by that. Aredian had promised him water if he confessed. But he persevered. "I'm  th' sorcer'r," he slurred thickly. 

"Confess your crimes, sorcerer," Aredian said, pulling Merlin's hair a bit harder.

" I...th' horse in  th'...th' smoke," Merlin said, concentrating very hard. "Gobl'n ...frogs in  m' mouth..." He trailed off, feeling as though he were forgetting something. 

"And the faces in the well?" Aredian reminded.

"Ah...yes," Merlin agreed. "All 'f 't."

Uther had listened patiently, but with a dangerous demeanor. No one dared to even breathe. It was obvious to most that Merlin had broken under the torture and admitted to it to stop the pain. The dark spots on his shirt were obviously blood, and they could see the red on his hands - one of which was crushed. When Aredian had reared the boy's head, a deep purple hand print became visible on his throat, and a bruised cut the size of a fist was apparent on his cheek. The boy was in bad shape, and in a lot of pain. Even Gaius felt faint.

Finally, Uther stood. "By the laws of Camelot," he said, "I  sentence you to death."

A hand flew up to Morgana's mouth and she gave an audible gasp. At the same moment, Arthur's jaw dropped and he looked at his father in shock. Gaius' eyes slid closed, brow furrowed. Aredian released Merlin's hair, and the boy crumpled to the floor, too weak to hold himself up. Gwen, who was standing near Gaius, immediately moved to his aid, but she was pushed aside by one of the guards who  stooped to pick him up. An uproar of murmuring rippled through the council, most of it approving, but some of it horror-struck.

"Father," Arthur hissed, clenching his fists behind his back.

Uther hadn't heard his son, or perhaps ignored him, and held up his hand for silence. The sound in the room was instantly stifled, and the king nodded to Aredian, who was posed to address the court. 

"The sorcerer," Aredian announced, "will be purged of his magic by means of fire! He shall be burnt at the stake tomorrow at dawn. Bear witness and heed this lesson!" He motioned to the guards and at once they turned and led Merlin back out of the room. Gaius was one of the first ones to leave, unable to trust his temperament. He was sure that if he had to look at either Aredian or  Uther for a moment longer, he would attack them - with magic, even. 

Arthur couldn't believe it. Immediately after Morgana, with Gwen trailing after, had stormed from the room, tears spilling over, the prince had numbly followed.  Aredian was speaking with his father, and it would be no use confronting either of them at that point, no matter how much he wanted to. How could his father not see that Merlin was innocent? Arthur had not been able to see the full extent of his manservant's injuries, but they were obviously extensive. Merlin had been tortured into claiming guilt for the crimes he had not committed. It made him feel physically ill.

The prince suddenly realized that he was not going towards his chambers as he had originally intended. Rather, his feet were carrying him in the direction of the dungeons. He hastened accordingly, nodding as though praising his feet for their quick thinking. Arthur could force his way in to see Merlin, and ascertain how badly he had been hurt. Then he would report to Gaius and send him to treat Merlin, and demand an audience with his father and point out the facts. He could not let an innocent man be burned.

"Sire," the guards greeted him with apprehension.

"Stand down," Arthur said, pushing past them. Surprisingly, they did as they were told, and did not follow him or attempt to stop him. Must have been the murderous look on his face.

He pulled the key ring off of his belt, and, seeing that Merlin had been deposited in the first cell, swiftly chose the correct one. Arthur twisted it in the lock and opened the screeching door (Honestly, didn't they ever oil the hinges?), leaving the key ring hanging. 

Merlin was sitting huddled on the mattress, hands still bound behind his back. Unfortunately, Arthur did not have the keys for them. He knelt beside the manservant, hand hovering over him. He was unsure if his touch, however gentle he would try to be, would hurt. So he settled for the next best method of waking: "Merlin," he said.

The boy bolted upright, eyes wide and panicked. He  toppled over, but Arthur quickly put out a steadying hand. He nearly recoiled as he felt the heat coming from Merlin's scrawny body, but he managed to keep his hand there. The touch seemed to calm Merlin, and his eyes drooped slightly, glazing over. 

"Merlin," Arthur said again, enunciating very carefully. "Listen to me. I am going to do everything in my power  to make sure that you do not burn. I will talk to my father. I will send Gaius down here."

As Arthur spoke, Merlin seemed to relax further, but upon hearing Gaius' name his eyes opened again. "Gai's," he repeated in a harsh voice that didn't belong to him. 

"Yes, Gaius," Arthur agreed, brow furrowing. Merlin didn't seem to really be listening, only hearing. He tried to think of something to say, something that might comfort him, but then Merlin was looking at him. 

Well, trying to look at him. It seemed Merlin's eyes kept sliding away whenever he tried to focus. He gave up after a moment and his eyes fluttered closed, but his lips parted to speak. "C'n...C'n I please 'ave s'm wat'r?"

Arthur had listened intently, but even so it took him a moment to sift through the slurred, broken voice to understand the words. "Water," he said, casting his gaze around the room. He spotted a cup at the end of Merlin's bed, and found that it was full of clear liquid. So someone had thought to leave him a bit to drink, but neglected to realize (or care) that the boy couldn't possibly drink it with his hands behind his back. 

The prince pressed the cup to Merlin's lips and carefully tipped it. Merlin gave a strangled cry and turned his head, eyes scrunched shut. He sputtered weakly, spitting out what little Arthur had managed to pour in.

"Merlin," Arthur said in a calm voice despite the pounding in his chest, "it's water. It's water."

"P-please," Merlin whimpered, rocking slightly and shaking his head. "Please, no, no..."

"Look at me, Merlin," Arthur commanded, a sudden idea striking him. If Merlin watched him drink the water, he would be convinced that it was all right to drink for himself. "Look at me," he said when Merlin glanced up, blinking owlishly.

Once he was sure that he had Merlin's (albeit unfocused) attention, Arthur deliberately raised the cup to his own lips and took a small sip - and promptly spit it out again, looking horrified. It was salted water! So someone had left Merlin a bit to drink. A drink that would cause further pain and harm, and likely, in his state, kill him before the moon had risen.

Arthur was furious. More than furious! Red-faced, he turned and dashed the cup at the bars, where it clattered and splashed water - salted water! - every which way. Merlin flinched, but Arthur didn't see it, as he was at the cell door, screaming, "Guards!"

Footsteps came immediately, but before they had even reached their destination, Arthur had scooped up the cup again and hurled it at them, stopping them in their tracks.

"Bring fresh water immediately!" Arthur commanded harshly. "A pitcher of it! And a clean goblet! Now!"

The guards spun on their heels, as did Arthur. The prince marched back into the cell and knelt back in front of Merlin, who had sagged to one side without support. Arthur helped him upright again. His face softened when he felt the feverish shivering. 

"Merlin," he said, "can I see your wounds? I need to know what to tell Gaius."

Merlin perked up again. "G-Gai's," he coughed out.

Arthur sighed. "Yes, Gaius," he agreed again, feeling helpless. 

He hated that feeling.

* * *

 

Merlin was vaguely aware that he wasn't alone in his cell. At first he had been afraid it was Aredian, but the voice that spoke certainly wasn't his. It was kinder, familiar. But it wasn't the same one that he'd heard in his head earlier, during his torture. This one was outside his head. The owner of the voice was rambling about something, but he was talking from underwater and Merlin couldn’t understand him. But he did hear something that sounded like 'Gaius,' and for a moment he hoped it was his mentor with him.

But no, that wasn't right. It wasn't Gaius' voice. 

Merlin forced his heavy eyes to open and tried to look at the person speaking to him. But each time he tried to get a good look, his eyes slipped off of the figure and all he could really make out was bright hair. It was yellow, like the sun. Maybe his hair was the sun; Merlin could never really look at the sun, either, so it made sense. But no, his eyes didn't hurt when he looked at the sun hair, so it probably wasn't the sun. Maybe the person with him was magical, and using the magic to make Merlin look away every time. Yes, that was it. This person didn’t want to be seen.

But maybe he would be kind to Merlin.

So Merlin asked very politely for a drink of water.

The person replied, and though Merlin couldn't understand what he'd said he was sure that his request was finally being granted. His heart soared when he felt the cool rim of a cup on his chapped lip. He was not prepared for the fire that was poured into his mouth. Betrayed, Merlin spat as best he could, trying to pull away from the person who had hurt him. Why couldn't he be left alone? He was dying anyway, and already in so much pain, so why wouldn't they leave him be? 

The voice spoke again, and the cup of flames was being brought toward him again. 

"P-please," Merlin uttered, "please, no, no!"

"Look at me, Merlin," said the voice. It echoed a bit, but the tone was commanding, and somehow Merlin knew that he was not to disobey. He slowly raised his head and opened his eyes, blinking against the dazzling form of the angel before him. For, now that Merlin could look at him, he saw that it was an angel. His angel. His very familiar angel, who was looking at him earnestly, eager to help him. Help. That was what Merlin needed. He needed his angel.

He watched as the angel drank from the cup of fire. He was alarmed and frightened, but he had no chance to stop it from happening. As Merlin expected, his angel recoiled, lips burned by the flames. His angel was angry, he could see. Merlin flinched as his angel cast the cup away, out of sight, and followed it screaming. 

Merlin hoped his angel was okay.

The warlock let his eyes droop again, feeling extraordinarily exhausted. Actually, he couldn't wait for death to come and release him from his misery. He hoped that he would get to say goodbye to Gaius, to Arthur, to Gwen, and to all his other friends, but somehow he doubted it. He felt himself sink to one side, but didn't have the energy to sit up again. 

Someone had the energy to do it for him. A strong but gentle hand helped him upright. Someone had come into his cell again. His angel had left, burned by the cup of fire, so this had to be someone else. Aredian? A guard? Another angel? He didn't know. He couldn't look.

The person was talking.

But Merlin didn't want to listen. He only wanted one person. He wanted his mother, but even in his delirium he knew that it would be impossible to see her; she was just too far away. So he settled for the next best thing: "G-Gai's," Merlin called pitifully.

The voice repeated the name. Merlin hoped that meant Gaius was coming soon.

* * *

Footsteps were hurrying  toward the cell, and Arthur  went to intercept them. One of the guards, probably the braver of the two, approached, tight-lipped, with a water jug and goblet. The prince grabbed them with a curt "Dismissed," and returned into the cell. The guard bowed stiffly despite the fact that Arthur was not looking, and hastily  made a retreat.   

"Here, Merlin," Arthur said, back in his kneeling position. He quickly topped the goblet off and set the jug down, extending the drink to his tortured manservant. 

Merlin flinched away, eyes hardly cracked open.

"It's water," Arthur insisted. "Wa - ter."

Merlin turned from it and ducked his head, hunched shoulders shaking with exertion. Arthur sighed again. Then, with resolve, he pulled Merlin into a one-armed hug, using his free hand to brace and tilt Merlin's head back against his shoulder. Merlin was utterly confused, hissing in pain at the movement, but otherwise he did not react. Arthur brought the cup towards Merlin's face slowly, trying not to frighten him any more.

It didn't work.

As soon as Merlin's dull eyes landed on the cup, they widened and he struggled feebly. "I  c'nf'ss!" he whispered desperately, feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor. "I  c'nf'ss!" He gave a broken sob when the brim of the goblet touched his lips.

Arthur's jaw was clenched as he watched Merlin's reaction. It was heart-wrenching, to say the least. But he wouldn't show his feelings . He was a prince, above such emotions. He tipped the cup.

When the water touched his tongue, Merlin flinched. But his body immediately registered the cool, tasteless liquid and swallowed greedily. A second later the warlock realized that the person holding him was really trying to help him, and he wondered if his angel had returned. Perhaps he had left to get the water. That must have been it.

The prince almost sighed in relief when Merlin relaxed and drank. He pulled the cup away at brief intervals to allow Merlin  to breathe, tongue darting across his chapped lips to catch any stray drops. In less than three minutes the manservant had polished off the drink. Arthur studied him for a moment, and then decided that it would be all right to give him more. 

He set the goblet down on the floor so he wouldn't have to release Merlin, and used that hand to pour it half full with the water from the jug. He lifted it to feed Merlin again. Merlin's eyes widened slightly in surprise that he was being given more, but he drank obediently. Arthur suddenly realized how ridiculous it was that he, the prince of Camelot, was caring for a lowly servant. What would his father think? 

The cup finished, Arthur set it aside again and helped Merlin lie on his side to rest. Then he realized that he had yet to look at the boy's wounds. Merlin looked as though he were about to drop off into a much-needed sleep.

"Merlin," Arthur said.

After a short beat, Merlin's eyes slowly slid up to where Arthur was leaning over him, hand hovering over his shoulder. There was no recognition in those blue orbs; Merlin was too feverish.

"I will not allow anything to happen to you," Arthur said deliberately, staring meaningfully into Merlin's unfocused eyes. "I will do everything in my power to make sure that you walk a free man. You are not a sorcerer, and you shall not burn."

"Is that so?" 

Startled, Arthur whipped around, hand automatically moving to his sword. Dread filled him when he saw not only Aredian, but his father standing at the cell door. He hadn't even heard them approach, so focused on Merlin he'd been. Recovering quickly, Arthur cleared his throat and stood ramrod straight. "Yes," he said. "I don’t doubt your skill, Aredian, but I know my manservant. He is no sorcerer."

"He confessed, Arthur," Uther said, looking at his son quite disapprovingly.

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I am aware," he said formally. "But he has been tortured into saying so. He's quite feverish as well; he probably did not even realize what he was confessing to." The prince resisted the urge to give Aredian a nasty look. "He needs Gaius, really. His wounds are serious."

"I'd expect so, Prince Arthur," Aredian said. "But you see, I had to treat him so to protect myself. He attempted to use his magic against me, to silence me. I only did what I had to do to incapacitate him to face his judgment."

Arthur glared at him. "That is not true! Merlin is not a sorcerer. Obviously he only confessed to stay your torture."

"Arthur," Uther barked angrily.

"It is quite all right, Your Majesty," Aredian said before the king could reprimand his son further. Both  royals looked at Aredian. "I understand exactly how you feel right now, Arthur. Angry? Disgusted? Perhaps protective?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He knew that Aredian was up to something, but he couldn't quite figure it out. 

But it seemed Uther did, as his eyes widened slightly at Arthur before narrowing again and turning to the witchfinder. "You aren't suggesting...?"

"I am, Sire," he replied.

"Suggesting what?" Arthur demanded. He was still standing between Aredian and Merlin, who  seemed unresponsive. Perhaps he had fallen asleep. The prince didn't dare to look behind himself and check.

Uther stepped forward, holding up a placating hand. "Arthur, you must step away from the sorcerer now. You've been enchanted. He's using you."

Arthur's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious," he uttered.

"Very," Uther said sincerely. "Now come away, son."

The prince's face hardened, and he turned his glare from his father to Aredian. "You're a liar!" he accused. "You've extracted a false confession. Is that what you do? Torture people until they confess, whether they are guilty or not? Merlin is not a sorcerer!"

Uther had had enough. "Guards!" he called, and they stepped forward. Arthur hadn't even noticed them. "Escort the prince to his chambers. Lock him in, and do not let him out until the sorcerer has burned tomorrow."

"No!" Arthur growled, backing away from them. He could only go so far, however, without stepping on Merlin,  so he took a fighting stance. The guards knew his prowess, and were obviously a bit reluctant. But they were more afraid of their king, and after a long few minutes of struggling they managed to get a grip on either of Arthur's arms. The prince was dragged kicking and screaming from dungeons, hurling insults at Aredian.

Once his echoing shouts had faded,  Uther sighed tiredly. "Apologies, Aredian, for my son's behavior," he said.

"No matter," Aredian simpered. "He's enchanted, after all. I'm sure if he weren't he would be much more agreeable."

"Yes, quite," Uther said. Then he turned and pointed a disgusted look at Merlin. The boy was lying as Arthur had left him, eyes slivered open but unseeing. If it weren't for the rise and fall of his shoulder and side with each breath the king might have already proclaimed him dead. 

Aredian followed his gaze. "This sorcerer will serve as a warning for the others," he said. "Once he is dead, other sorcerers will become nervous, some grief-stricken. They will be easy to draw out. I will eradicate magic from Camelot once and for all."

"Good, good."

The men turned and left. Aredian shut the squealing bars with a satisfied expression, and handed the neglected keys to the king. Then they were gone.

As soon as they were out of sight, Merlin blinked slowly. After a few deep breaths, he painstakingly sat up. The water he'd been given had made him feel immensely better, though he was still very much in pain. He was still sure he wouldn't last long, especially now that he was sentenced to death, apparently.

He had become aware of the altercation only a few moments before. Merlin knew that he had missed most of it because all he knew was that Arthur was being escorted to his room and kept there until Merlin was dead. Missing pieces made for large, infuriating gaps in his memory, and he didn't like it. It had taken all he had to not react to Uther and Aredian's conversation. He was quite sure that Aredian had said Arthur was enchanted, but he must have misheard. He was still feverish and hurting, and was having a difficult time concentrating.

But that would all be over soon. He was going to burn at dawn.

Merlin's eyes and throat closed with despair, and his breath hitched in his chest. What he wouldn't give for someone to come and be with him for his last moments. Gaius, Gwen, Arthur, Morgana...His mother. The only upside Merlin could come up with was that he would see Will again. 

He tried to suppress his sobs, but found that he couldn't. The Great Dragon had told him time and again that he was destined for great things. Obviously he was wrong. Merlin was destined for the stake. Destined to die for being something he never chose to be, for having something for which he never asked. Why did his mother send him to Camelot? She had sent him to his death.

No. 

He couldn't blame her. Merlin had only himself to blame. If he hadn't morphed the smoke then Aredian would never have been summoned, and he would never have been caught. Merlin was solely to blame. 

But it didn't make it any easier.

Gaius had once told him that sometimes the smoke killed the sorcerer before the flames. Merlin wondered if suffocating was less painful than burning. If it was, that was how he hoped he would go. If being touched with a hot rod was as painful as the fire itself...Merlin didn't want to think of the agony he would endure. He took several stuttering breaths, trying to compose himself. Crying wouldn't solve anything. It wouldn't change his fate. It wouldn't make his pain go away. 

He was going to die, and that was that.

So why couldn't he just accept it?

" _Merlin_ ," the Great Dragon said sadly.

The warlock shoved his conscience away. He didn't feel like listening.

" _Merlin_!"

"Leave me alone," Merlin said aloud harshly. What if someone heard him talking to himself? That was all right. He was going to die, anyway.

_ "You must escape, Merlin. Run. Use your magic. Run. Run!" _

"No!" Merlin shook his head. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. Just the thought of standing up was enough to make his head spin, his stomach flip. No, he couldn't run. He was dead.

Merlin settled himself as best he could, trying to get comfortable with his numb hands shackled behind him. Once more he found himself with his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them. He leaned over onto the damp stone wall for support. He was thirsty again.

* * *

 

Arthur had given up screaming and pounding on the doors. The servant's entrance was locked and guarded, too, and the only contact he'd had with anyone was with a servant who had brought his evening meal. Instead of sitting down to eat it, he'd thrown it at the undeserving servant, who had scurried away followed by the prince's verbal abuse. Then Arthur had taken to destroying quite a few of his own possessions: the doors of his wardrobe hung off its hinges; his clothes were strewn about; the chairs had been smashed to pieces ( _C heck for hollow legs!_); he'd flipped his mattress onto the floor and torn down the canopy; and all the drawers to his various chests had been relieved of their contents and been thrown out of the window. He hadn't even checked to see if anyone was below. He was sure his father had been informed of his behavior by now, and Arthur was expecting a visit.

But the sun had set, and still his father hadn't come. That was worrisome.

The prince had taken to standing and looking out of the window, as he was wont to do when thinking about something. There was bustling in the square below. Several guards had been tasked with building a pyre. Merlin's pyre.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur cradled his head in his hands. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Merlin kneeling before the court, unable to support himself. So weak. So exhausted. So hurt. He'd been unconscious when he was first dragged in. It took Aredian almost two minutes to rouse him, and then he'd grasped Merlin's hair to keep him upright and awake. It was cruel. Horrifying. Disgusting.

Arthur couldn’t understand how anyone could do that to another person, sorcerer or not.

And Merlin was so... _ Merlin_. He was clumsy and basically useless. There was no way he could have even hoped to defend himself. Of course he couldn't, his hands had been shackled. And one of them crushed. He had noticed that as Merlin was hauled away, feet stumbling in his weak attempt to keep up.

It was so wrong. Why couldn't his father see it?

He was pulled from his inner musings by the sound of murmuring voices outside his door. Arthur listened intently. One of the speakers was a guard, he was sure, and the other was...Morgana. She was trying to talk her way inside, despite the fact that Arthur was not to have visitors.

She had her way, as usual (Arthur snorted), and the door was opened for her and closed as she entered . The prince was a little surprised to see Gwen at her heels, but he said nothing.

Morgana stopped in the center of the room, looking at Arthur almost cautiously. There were dark bags under her weary green eyes . "You're not enchanted, are you?" she asked softly. It was really more of a statement.

"Of course not," Arthur grimaced. "Merlin isn't a sorcerer."

"Right," Morgana said. "We need to save him...You've gone to see him. How bad is he? Should Gaius come with us?"

"With us where?" Arthur inquired. "In case you haven't noticed, Morgana, I'm being held prisoner. There are guards to ensure Merlin doesn't escape. Even if we did manage to get Merlin out of Camelot, where would we go?"

Morgana opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came forth. By the slight furrow of her brow, Arthur knew that she had not planned anything further than getting Merlin out of the dungeons.

"Arthur," Gwen said, stepping forward. She looked even more ragged than Morgana, her dark curls in disarray. "Arthur, you've got to stop this."

"I can't, Gwen," Arthur said sadly. "You know I can't. My father has already passed the sentence. There is nothing I can do."

She glared at him heatedly. "You can do the right thing, Arthur Pendragon!" 

"Guinevere," Arthur sighed.

Morgana huffed, and Gwen averted her gaze to the floor. "She's right, Arthur. We have to do something. Merlin is innocent."

"I know."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

Morgana searched his face for a long moment. She visibly deflated. "Neither do I."

The three stood for a moment longer, eyes downcast and somber. Their dear friend was going to die, burned alive before their very eyes. Then Morgana turned and walked back to the door, picking her way through the mess Arthur had made. She knocked, and the door opened cautiously. Morgana and her maidservant were allowed their leave, and Arthur was locked inside once more, alone.

His gaze turned to the pyre in the square. It was completed, awaiting its victim. Fire cared not whether anyone was innocent or guilty; it burned all who touched it. Arthur decided right then that fire was more evil and unfeeling than any sorcerer alive or dead.

It wasn't fair.

The young prince stayed rooted to his spot by the window for the entirety of the night. He didn't sleep. Why should he, when Merlin was going to die so painfully in just a few short hours? Why should Arthur be comfortable when he was breaking his promise? He wasn't sure whether Merlin had even registered Arthur's presence, but nonetheless, Arthur had sworn that Merlin would not burn. And yet, Merlin would wrongfully burn at dawn. No, Arthur didn't deserve rest.

The sun rose much too soon. 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Merlin jolted out of his light sleep by the haunting sound of the cell door opening. Aredian entered, looking quite smug. "Good morning, Merlin."

The warlock blinked blearily at him. He tried to muster up a hateful glare, but he was much too exhausted, and merely slumped forward. Two guards stepped forward and hoisted him up, seemingly unbothered by Merlin's weak cry or that he could not support himself at all. He was dragged out, toes of his boots scraping the floor.

As they exited the dungeons and stepped out into the cool morning air, Merlin dropped  his head and squeezed his oversensitive  eyes shut. It was a cloudy day, but after being held in the darkness for an extended period and with a prominent headache, the light was unbearable. He didn't need his sight to know that he had been tossed unceremoniously into the horse-drawn cage with which Aredian had arrived. Merlin was  slightly relieved that he would not have to walk all the way to the square.

He retracted his  relief as he realized how painful the ride would be. The wheels were rickety at best, and the cobblestone groundwork offered no comfort. Each foot they proceeded was another few seconds of hell for Merlin. All he could do was curl into himself as tightly as he could with his hands bound behind his back. His face was contorted as he tried desperately to hold back the pain. He was vaguely aware of the noise around him, indicating a crowd. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as the cage finally halted.

Merlin managed to crack his eyes open, and the sight that greeted him made his stomach drop. He hardly had time to register his feeling of fear and dread, as the cage door was flung open. Aredian reached inside and roughly pulled him out, causing pain to race through his body again. Merlin moaned weakly, but did not resist, hanging limply in his torturer's grasp.

"Come on then, up you go, sorcerer!" Aredian said, dragging Merlin up the steps to the pyre. 

He was passed off to a guard, who turned him around and jerked him back to tie his hands to the stake. No one bothered to remove the manacles. Merlin tried to stand to alleviate the pressure in his shoulders. His heart fluttered anxiously, dreadfully. He was going to die. Whenever anyone thought of him, it would be as the prince's ex-manservant, the sorcerer. A lump formed in his throat, and his body began to shake. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die!

Aredian was standing on a raised platform in front of the pyre, holding a flaming torch. This was it. His death was inching closer.

But the witchfinder stopped and turned, tilting his head to look up at the king standing on the balcony. Merlin followed his gaze and met Uther's hard glare, and immediately averted his eyes. He spotted Arthur, standing  behind his bedroom window. That surprised him. Normally Arthur would be standing at his father's side.

Merlin swallowed hard and looked down as Aredian received a curt nod that signaled the lighting of the pyre. Uther didn't even bother to give his customary "magic is evil and shall be purged" speech. Aredian stepped forward and began to lower the torch. Merlin closed his eyes, struggling to hold back his magic. It was no use, anyway. He was too weak to get far. They would catch him, and he would be put through more pain.

It was better that it ended then.

"Wait!"

Merlin's eyes snapped open, and he, like the rest of the crowd, swiveled his head to look up to Arthur's window. He had opened the window and was standing on the sill, bracing himself against the panes. Now Merlin was fearful not only for himself, but for Arthur as well. What the hell was he doing?

Uther thought along the same lines, and shouted at his son, "Arthur, get down!"

Aredian's eyes had narrowed, torch stayed. He looked to the king for guidance. Uther, when Arthur made no move and just stared down defiantly at him, turned to address those below him.

"Send the guards to Arthur's room and pull him to safety," he called down. A squadron immediately acted, sprinting off to follow through. "Aredian, hold the purge until he is safe."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Aredian bowed, though his teeth were gritted in annoyance.

"Merlin is innocent!" Arthur yelled out. "Merlin is innocent! If you burn him, I'll jump!"

"He is enchanted," Aredian calmly raised his voice to be heard over the young prince. "Nothing to fear, once the sorcerer is dead he will return to himself."

But the crowd seemed a bit nervous. Gaius was staring intently at Merlin, who gaped slack-jawed at Arthur. He wished there were something he could do, but he was a feeble old man, and Merlin was too weak. The only thing that would save him was proof of his innocence, but that was impossible to get. It was too late. But perhaps Arthur could somehow save him.

"Merlin is innocent!" Arthur screamed repeatedly. "You know him! He's innocent!"

There was a distant bang, indicating that the guards had burst into the room. Sure enough, two appeared cautiously behind him, and then grabbed him like predators stalking their next meal. Arthur braced himself tightly in the window and refused to be taken. 

"Merlin is innocent!" he continued. "He is innocent!"

More guards joined the fray, and Arthur's feet were tugged out from underneath him, throwing him off balance. But his hands held, and he kept screaming savagely, red in the face. 

Uther turned to Aredian and raised his hand, but then whipped around when he heard a new scream:  "I'll jump if you burn him!" The king swore loudly and shouted down to the guards to grab the Lady Morgana as well, who was leaning out her window. The wind snatched at her long black curls. 

"Merlin is innocent!" she cried, voice tremoring. "He is innocent! Release him!"

"Merlin is innocent!" Arthur yelled.

Merlin attempted to crane his head and look at Morgana, but the movement hurt too much and he wouldn't have been able to see her behind him, anyway, so he gave up and looked at  Uther. The king was angry, glaring down at Merlin as though he were the cause of their disruption. Ah, that was exactly what he thought.

The citizens in the square appeared to be at a complete loss. Some obviously believed that Merlin was the culprit, while others were beginning to question Aredian's integrity. The latter took one glance at Merlin's horrid state, and their suspicions were only strengthened. 

It was easier to pry Morgana away from her window, though she did put up an award-winning fight. Arthur was hanging by his left hand, his right having been finally restrained. Neither ceased screaming in Merlin's behalf.

It was all the encouragement Merlin needed to live. If Arthur and Morgana would fight for him, then he would fight for himself as well. Though he really _was_ a warlock , he didn't deserve to die. He hadn't asked for it, anyway. It wasn't his fault. And he had always used it for good, aside from a few harmless pranks. He had a destiny to fulfill.

Merlin locked his eyes on Aredian, who was regarding Morgana's window a bit oddly. Merlin knew that look; it was the same bloodlust he'd had when torturing him. A spark of anger ignited in his chest. The warlock ducked his head, feigning limp, keeping his eyes half lidded. His magic surged, more powerful than he had felt it in what seemed a lifetime, and he let it pour forth. He didn't need words. Merlin and his magic knew exactly what needed to happen.

"Peace!" Aredian called, throwing up his hand. "It is an enchantment!" His sleeve slipped down, revealing several golden bracelets with various colors of inset stone. They glowed brightly.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

Aredian gaped at his arm for a moment before hastily moving it down to his side and shaking it to lower his sleeve. The fountain nearby crumbled with each shake, spilling its water onto the cobblestones. Those who stood near it shrieked in terror and scrambled away. This began a panic in others, who at once began to run in the opposite direction of the witchfinder. 

"Aredian is the sorcerer!" Arthur bellowed. The guards, in their shock, had ceased to hold the prince back, and in an instant he was back in his window. "Aredian is the sorcerer! Merlin is innocent! Aredian is the sorcerer!"

Morgana joined in shrilly, "Aredian is the sorcerer! Aredian is the sorcerer!"

"N-no!" Aredian choked. "It's not me! I-I-" he cut off, grasping his throat as a horrified expression crossed his face. A  large toad slipped from between his lips, flopped grotesquely to the ground, and croaked loudly.

"Sorcerer!" Uther hissed at last, looking at Aredian in disgust. 

Aredian turned on Merlin, heedless of the knights who were quickly advancing with their weapons drawn. The square was nearly clear, the people having panicked and retreated. Merlin shifted, his fight or flight instinct kicking in. But there was nowhere to go, and he had used up his  very last  reservoir of strength to  condemn  Aredian. With a snarl, Aredian threw the torch down into the pyre.

He was immediately impaled by a sleek  sword, and his eyes rolled back into his skull eerily. The knight behind him yanked his weapon free, and  Aredian fell dead.  The knights stepped out the corpse's path as it tumbled  brokenly down the steps, landing in a crumpled heap on the cobblestones.

" _M_ _erlin_!" Arthur and Morgana shrieked. 

The torch had instantly set the kindling riddled throughout the firewood ablaze, and the dry wood was quick to follow. Merlin whimpered fearfully down at it, twisting his hands frantically and  succeeding only in drawing more blood. There was no escape. Thick white smoke  billowed upward, choking Merlin. He changed his mind about hoping to suffocate to death. It was horrible! 

His eyes streamed and his throat and lungs burned like fire - Or perhaps he had swallowed a spark and it had flared up within him. He didn't know anything but the primal fear and sense of self-preservation - and the  _ pain_! Oh, the  _ pain_, it  _ hurt  _ so  _ much_. The flames had roared up, melting the soles of his  cheap boots and catching on his woolen socks. The socks went instantly, blackening and curling away to allow the fire to lick at his bare feet. His skin reddened and blistered, searing agonizingly.

Some obscure thought weaseled  through everything he felt and registered that he was screaming. No, he was wailing. No, choking. All of them, really. It didn't sound like a human cry. It didn't sound like him. Perhaps it was his magic screaming. 

The wood beneath his feet gave way, and both of his legs plunged down into the heart of the pyre. If he'd thought he was in agony before, then he had been quite mistaken. His descent was stopped by the fact his hands were tied so securely  to the stake, but with no support for his shoulders, both  dislocated with two loud pops. Completely helpless, in total agony, all Merlin could do was toss his head back and scream, voice beginning to give out.

Suddenly, the rope holding his hands snapped, and he was  falling - up and out of the pyre? No, someone had cut him free and was pulling him from the flames. The hold was no ne too gentle, but Merlin couldn't expect it to be, really, since whoever was saving him had braved the flames. Arthur? No, he never would have made it from his room to the courtyard so quickly. A guard? Not likely.

Then a  soothing  thought struck him, and he smiled wanly. His angel had saved him.

Merlin's body hit something hard, and he was vaguely aware of a loud clanking beside him. Before the darkness completely took over, he felt the cool splash of  tranquil  death as it overtook him.

* * *

 

With a sharp hiss, Sir Leon tossed Merlin away from the pyre and jumped down himself, crash-landing on the cobblestones. _ Hot! hot! hot! _ He'd had the s plit-second  notion that the metal armor  he wore  would protect him from the flames, but  it had quickly heated up to a scalding temperature before he had even managed to saw through Merlin's bounds with his  trusty  knife. 

He spluttered as cold water was splashed over him, and looking up he saw  a stricken Gwen with an empty bucket. She had always been a quick thinker, even when in panic mode. The servant had thrown the water both over him and Merlin, cooling both of them and discouraging any new flames from erupting. But he didn't think to thank her. He was too busy assessing the damage that had been done to the prince's poor, innocent manservant.

The fire had eaten away his boots and socks, as well as most of his trousers. The burns were less serious farther up his long legs, and ended at roughly  mid-thigh. Luckily, Leon had managed to pull him free before it  reached  any higher, but Merlin's chances did not look good. Huge white blisters had formed over the charred, puckered red skin, and were  swelling  by the minute. It was grueling to see, and Leon had to swallow several times to keep down his breakfast.

Arthur and Morgana had fallen silent when Merlin had been pulled from the flames. He didn't doubt that they were waiting, hoping for Merlin to move. But Merlin was unconscious, wheezing shallowly, hands still shackled. 

His chances did not look good.

"Get him to my chambers, quickly!"

Leon jolted at Gaius' voice and blinked. He hadn't even seen the old physician approach, but he was pushing himself up from his knees at his ward's side, probably having checked for a pulse. 

"Quickly, now, quickly!" 

Leon started again, shaking his curly head to clear it . He scooped up Merlin without much thought for hurting him (he was unconscious, after all), and hurried forward. Gaius was actually running in a hobbling manner, an amazing feat for one his age. Leon marveled at his back. But then, love was a strong motivator. Leon wished, as he had during Merlin's "trial," that he hadn't been the one to find the bracelet and shown it to  Aredian. 

It was too late to change anything, though. All he could do was help in any way that he could.

When Leon carefully turned sideways  to carry Merlin through the door, Gaius had already cleared off the table by sweeping his arms across the top of it and sending everything to the floor. "Lie him there," he said, turning away to gather the things he needed.

Gwen stopped in the doorway, breathing heavily. Her brown eyes were locked on Merlin, wide and terrified. Then she swallowed and looked down beside the door, where two buckets were kept. "I'll fetch some water!" She snatched them up by the handles and scurried away again, leaving Leon with a dying man and a frantic physician.

"What can I do?" Leon asked, desperate for some sort of occupation.

Gaius glanced up from the poultice he was pounding in the mortar, first at the knight and then at his still ward. "Remove his clothes, if you will, Sir," he said. Then he was concentrated on his work again, skilled, unshaking hands moving quickly and surely.

Leon hesitated, but then stepped back to Merlin. The boy was sweating profusely, making black rivulets down his skin where the smoke had been slicked away. His breaths were still shallow and sickly and obviously painful, and he wondered whether it was possible that his lungs had been burned. The knight pulled up the hem of Merlin's coarse, threadbare shirt. There was a boot-shaped bruise on his sunken belly. Leon's lips tightened into a thin line. As gently as possible, he continued to pull the shirt up.

His eyes widened and froze as Merlin's chest was revealed. In the center, just over his heart, clear as day, was the  Pendragon crest. The rearing dragon was burned into his skin, and the angry red lines were  inflamed, pink skin peeling back. It was obviously infected. But what bothered Leon the most was that Merlin had been branded as though he were a possession. As though he were an animal. He would bear that scar forever. Leon recalled that Merlin had once mentioned he was not from Camelot, and that made it all the worse. The knight felt sick. 

Swallowing hard again, though his mouth was dry as cotton, Leon pulled the shirt over the manservant's head. Now all that was left was to free his arms of the sleeves, but his hands were still manacled behind his back. Leon didn't have the key. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his lock-picker, standard issue for all knights. It was not a skill he often practiced, but he was quite adept at it, and in no time at all he had unlocked the cruel metal and set them aside. He removed Merlin's shirt, mindful of the torn skin around his wrists, and then laid his arms gently on either side of him. 

"His trousers, too, Gaius?" Leon asked a bit weakly.

"Yes."

Leon suppressed a sigh and untied the drawstring that held them up around Merlin's skinny waist. He hoped there was no damage to...to  _ there_, but judging from Aredian's cruelty he wouldn’t be particularly surprised. To his relief, it appeared that all was well in that area. Leon hesitated to pull the pants over the burns that had mangled Merlin's legs. It would surely be painful. With a glance at the boy's slightly furrowed brow he continued, knowing that he was too far gone to be aware of it. Then he removed the last, scrappy remains of his boots, wincing when it pulled at a bit of seared skin.

The knight, job finished, stepped back with his eyes lowered respectfully from Merlin. He'd been through much. Leon wondered why such bad things seemed to so often happen to such good, kindly people. People like Merlin.

Gwen returned with the water, hauling one bucket in each hand. Leon started forward and took one. She gave him a gratuitous look, and together they set the buckets by the table. Gaius was still furiously mixing herbs. Leon turned to Gwen, and caught her staring at Merlin's state, particularly the brand on his chest. The man suddenly realized that Merlin was nude, and cast his gaze around for something to cover him with. 

But just as he was searching, Gwen kneeled down and picked up Merlin's ruined shirt, and laid it gently over Merlin's manhood without so much a blink. Then she reached into her bosom and retrieved her handkerchief, dunked it into one of the buckets, wrung it out, and wiped the soot and sweat from Merlin's face with a motherly touch. Unshed tears hung in her eyes, but there they stayed. Crying would only distract from the much-needed attention she was giving to her friend.

Once she had cleared his face, Gwen expertly began to wash his arms and chest, occasionally dipping and wringing out her now ruined handkerchief. Leon stood by and watched in awe. The serving girl skirted first around the awful burn centered over his heart, and then cleaned the cloth as best she could before washing that as well, dabbing and wiping carefully. Then she moved on to his flayed wrists, repeating the process. 

Gaius bustled over, nearly ramming into Leon. Only the knight's reflexes made him step back quickly enough to get out of the way. The old man, with surprising strength, lifted the bucket Gwen wasn't using and set it on the table at Merlin's hip. The ground herbs and poultices he had fervently made were dumped into it. Rather than mixing it with a spoon or such, Gaius plunged his hand into it and swirled it around a few times. 

He turned and grabbed the nearest clean cloth. Like Gwen, he wet it and wrung it out quickly, and then professionally scrubbed down Merlin's legs. Leon winced and turned a bit green. The white blisters were torn open by the cloth, and clear pus oozed from them. It looked painful, but Merlin did not stir. The knight wondered if Merlin would ever wake again.

His chances did not look good. 

"Do," Leon swallowed hard, throat bobbing, "Do you need anything?"

Gaius didn't spare him a glance this time. "Thank you, Sir, but no."

Leon nodded slowly. "Then...I suppose I'll be going."

"Yes, thank you."

He nodded again, feeling a bit dizzy, and made his way to the door. Leon planned to go and have his squire help him out of his armor, and then have a lie down in his bed. It had been one of the longest days of his life, and it was not yet noon. He'd seen plenty of wounds before, plenty of death, but it was  _ Merlin_, for heaven's sake! There was no conceivable way that Merlin would have been able to protect himself from that sort of torture, no signs of any defensive wounds on his hands or arms. He'd been helpless, defenseless. He'd confessed, knowing that it would bring death, to stop the pain he was going through. He'd been broken.

Leon hardly registered the figure sprinting down the corridor toward him, only jolting out of his thoughts when the person had rammed hard into his shoulder, rattling his armor. The knight blinked in surprise and turned to see the receding back of Prince Arthur in crumpled clothes, heading to Gaius' chamber to see his manservant. Leon winced at the soreness in his shoulder. If he'd been bruised while wearing armor, it was certain that the prince's shoulder was in worse shape. Arthur probably hadn't even felt it, so intent he was on his destination.

The prince burst into Gaius' door. Gwen was the only one who reacted, shooting a furtive glance up before ignoring the arrival and tending to Merlin's wrist again. She was wrapping a long strip of herb-soaked linen around it to promote healing and  to ward off infection. Her dark curls were disheveled, and she looked haggard. There was a spot of red blood on her bodice. Arthur was frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in torch light. Gwen had ignored him. She  never ignore d him. That meant Merlin was in very bad  condition.

Merlin had been burned, he knew that from the  anguished  screams. But he was too far away to really see him, and the smoke obscured most of his view anyway. He knew one of his knights had jumped onto the pyre and pulled him free, and that the same knight had followed Gaius away with a  still  Merlin in his arms, but that was the extent of his knowledge. For several long, agonizing minutes, he had stayed at his window, staring down at the abandoned courtyard. The pyre was still burning, eating greedily away at the wood. Aredian's body lay at the foot of the steps, a red pool forming beneath it. He didn't know where his father had gone, and he didn't care. It was his father's fault, anyway.

Tentatively, Arthur stepped past the threshold of Gaius' door, closing it quietly behind him. He half expected for Gaius to turn and snap at him to get out, that all of it was his fault because Arthur hadn't kept his promise. Arthur had failed, and Merlin had paid the price. Merlin had burned. 

His unearthly screams still echoed in his ears. A shudder raced through Arthur's body, and he tried to suppress the  dread that was chilling his insides. His feet carried him to the table, though he didn't approach  it enough to be in the way. The prince's chest and throat constricted.

Merlin was much worse than he'd ever imagined.

Gwen had already wrapped one wrist and was working on the other. Gaius was sickeningly smearing  the awful burns on the manservant's legs with something that smelled both sweet and bitter. That pleasant smell was not nearly enough to smother the odor of burnt flesh. Merlin's flesh. Merlin had  burned. But before that he'd been tortured.  _ Merlin_. 

Arthur's wide  blue eyes honed in on the brand mark. The  Pendragon  crest, the rearing dragon, mocked him from Merlin's skinny chest. It took up his entire vision. Merlin had been marked like a  _ slave,_ like an  _ animal_. He was branded with the  _ Pendragon  _ crest. Branded, scarred, forever and always. He would wear it for the rest of his life. If he lived, that was. It hardly bore thinking about.

It wasn't until Gwen touched him that he realized she had come over to him with a concerned expression. Her lips were moving, but no sound came out. He suspected, though, that she wanted  for him to sit, because she steered him to a stool out of the way and pushed him down onto it. With one last sympathizing look, Gwen went back to Merlin's side. Arthur stared, breathing heavily, hands limp in his lap.

How could this have happened?

It was just wrong. Surreal. Unbelievable. Arthur wanted nothing more than to wake up, but he knew that it was entirely real. He was beginning to feel physically ill just from seeing Merlin's wounds. He couldn't imagine having to go through what he'd endured over the last few days. Sure, he'd been held hostage and tortured. That came with his status. He'd been trained from a young age for it. 

But  Merlin...He was a farmer's son from just beyond Camelot's border. Likely the worst he'd ever been through was a famine, and looking at how skinny he was Arthur was sure he'd never gotten enough to eat in all of his years. It was surprising that Merlin had held out so long against Aredian's torture. He wasn't sure which wounds had been inflicted first (Gaius would; he'd ask), but all of it looked to be extremely painful. Arthur thought that even  _ he  _ might have confessed to end such torture.

Gaius had begun wrapping Merlin's legs in soaked bandages. He started from the top of the burns, around mid-thigh, and wound his way down. Gwen was smearing the same paste Gaius had been using on the brand on Merlin's chest. It all looked so very  _ painful_. If Arthur had been in his place, he'd have been thrashing and screaming, he was sure...So why was Merlin so frighteningly still?

The only sign of life coming from his manservant was the wheezing. It was weak, and the rise and fall of his chest was shallow and erratic. Arthur didn't think Merlin was getting enough air. The harsh reality that Merlin would likely die before the sun set hung over their necks like a guillotine. Arthur's chest gave a violent pang, and he nearly doubled over from it. But his bottom stayed rooted firmly to the stool, unwilling to draw attention away from Merlin, who so desperately needed it.

The physician had finally finished doctoring Merlin's legs, but he didn't allow himself a moment of rest. He gave Gwen's work of Merlin's wrists and chest a once-over, and nodded shortly in approval. He bent over Merlin and checked his eyes quickly, then stepped back. 

"Help me roll him over, Gwen," he said brusquely. 

"His shoulders are dislocated," she protested.

"Not as important as his back," Gaius said dismissively, already lifting Merlin. Gwen reached across the table and pulled gently until Merlin was lying on his right side, his  posterior  facing his mentor. The old man wrung out his cloth and began to mop the boy's mutilated back.

Gwen dared a glance at it. "Oh," she uttered sadly, biting her lower lip.

Arthur averted his gaze. The angry red lashes that crisscrossed his back was something that he'd seen many times on other men, and even sometimes women. But he was unprepared to see it across Merlin's pale spine.  There were at least ten long marks, some deeper than others, and all puffy \- a sign of infection. The image was imprinted into Arthur's mind's eye. He wanted to cry.

Gaius was muttering under his breath as he prodded at the contusions. "None of them need stitches...This burn here is a bit infected, we'll need to - yes, thank you, Gwen...I suppose a tight wrapping will suffice for now." 

Together, they propped him upright, and then Gwen was tasked with holding him in that position while Gaius wound bandages all around his torso. Arthur would have offered to help had he been able to trust his legs, but as he did not he stayed silent. He was sure that they had forgotten he was there, anyway. Gaius had finished the binding in record time, and they lowered him back down. Both looked by then completely exhausted.

"Now we'll set his shoulders," Gaius said. "And then I'll finish up his fingers."

Gwen nodded, lips tight. 

Arthur wanted to cover his ears so he wouldn't have to hear the pops associated with setting a dislocation. But he forced himself to listen to it. It seemed  the very least he could do, after having failed Merlin. The broken promise rang emptily through his head, shooting daggers into his chest.  His fault, his fault.

The prince flinched back into reality at the abruptness of the first crack. He  expected for Merlin to cry out, but there was no reaction. He watched in apprehension as they moved to the other side of the table to repeat the process. As Gaius bent Merlin's elbow Arthur closed his eyes against his will. He didn’t want to see it. He'd seen plenty of dislocated shoulders (often his own), but he'd never seen anyone not react to it. He knew firsthand how painful it was. It wasn't right to not acknowledge that agony.

Arthur stumbled off the stool and pushed past the table blindly. If either had called out to him, he hadn't  heard. He strode briskly back to his chambers, face twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears of despair. He was overreacting, he knew. Merlin was just a servant, and not even a good one at that. He didn't care. Wouldn't care. Shouldn't care. 

_ Did  _ care.

Merlin didn't deserve to die. 

"Arthur."

The prince slowed to a halt, and immediately  schooled his face into an expressionless mask, as was expected of him. He turned. "Father," he said stiffly.

* * *

 

Gwen had, upon seeing the look Gaius had at last given his ward, quickly offered to dispose of the used water. The old man acknowledged her, and she took the buckets away to dump them. She didn't want to leave Merlin's side, but she did know that Gaius wanted a bit of time alone with him to grieve. She knew, despite his herculean attempt to salvage his charge's body, that it was all he could do to hold himself together. Merlin was not expected to live.  A lump formed in her throat, but she bravely swallowed it, raising her chin high. Her tears, however, fell freely.

* * *

 

Gaius leaned over Merlin's face, stroking his raven hair back gently. "Oh, my boy," he whispered despairingly.  The old man kissed Merlin's burning brow before completely breaking down, tears squeezing out of his eyes and falling onto his surrogate son's face. "You foolish boy," he sobbed, caressing his hair. "You foolish, foolish boy!"

The physician recoiled in surprise when Merlin coughed weakly, twice. His brow  furrowed, and he was struggling to open his eyes. The boy was obviously in pain, but was unable to voice it.

"Merlin, my boy," Gaius said quickly, gently bracing his neck as he coughed miserably again. "Wake up, my boy, wake up now."

"Gai's...?"

"I'm here, Merlin. You'll be all right. " Gaius hoped that Merlin hadn't heard the crack in his voice when he'd lied. Merlin would definitely  not  be all right. The old man was under no delusions that he would be, but he 'd say anything just have more time with the unfortunate child. "Wake up, Merlin."

With apparent difficulty, Merlin fought his heavy eyelids open a crack, which was as much as he could manage. His eyes wandered a bit until he found Gaius. They widened a bit more, and the corners of his lips twitched. "Gai's," he croaked.

"One moment, Merlin," Gaius said gently. He turned and hurried to the dinner table, where a jug of water and their cups were. He nearly spilled the water in his haste, but he didn't slow. "Drink this, my boy." 

Merlin obediently tried to sit up, but he was much too weak. His muscles barely twitched in response to his command. But Gaius said nothing, completely understanding, and snaked an arm behind the boy's shoulders. Once he had been propped up enough that he would not choke, Gaius pressed the cup to his lips and slowly fed Merlin. If one thing was done wrong, or done inadequately, Merlin would suffer more. It would possibly kill him. Gaius refused to allow either of those to happen.

The young warlock appeared to feel marginally better after the drink. It had soothed his soot-lined, parched throat, and filled his aching belly a bit. Gaius didn't allow himself to relax. The journey of Merlin's recovery had not even begun; he had to live through the night for that to happen. Even then, it was entirely too possible to Merlin to take a turn for the worse, or just die.

Gaius set the cup aside and lowered his ward back onto the table. If Merlin survived the night, he would have a guard come and move him to his bed. He did, however, go to his own bed and fetch his pillow, and then placed it underneath Merlin's head and neck. It helped his abhorrent breathing a bit.

"Gai's..."

"I'm here, Merlin," Gaius said in a soothing voice, stroking Merlin's hair. "I'm not going anywhere, my boy."

Merlin's feverish eyes found Gaius' again. He said something that Gaius couldn't quite make out, but the old man could have sworn that Merlin had said he was sorry.

"Don't speak, Merlin," Gaius said gently, leaning closer. "Just try to rest. You'll feel better when you wake. Go to sleep, my boy."

The warlock's eyes began to slip closed, but just as suddenly Merlin forced them open again. "M'ng'l," he murmured.

For a moment Gaius wondered whether he was mumbling spells, but then dismissed the idea. Despite his fever and exhaustion, Merlin looked to be at least a little lucid. Obviously he was trying to tell Gaius something important. "What is it?" he asked, cocking his better ear toward Merlin.

Merlin breathed for a few moments, trying to get enough oxygen to speak. "My..." he whispered, and Gaius nodded, having caught that word. "...angel..."

Gaius frowned. Perhaps Merlin wasn't as lucid as he'd thought. But he let Merlin finish, knowing the stubborn boy wouldn’t rest until he had gotten it out. 

"...saved...me..."

"Well," Gaius said, forcing a sincere tone, "I'll have to thank your angel, won't I?"

Merlin's lips twitched upwards, and his eyes slipped closed. Gaius held his breath for a moment, willing his ward's smoke-filled lungs to continue working. They  did. Gaius remained standing vigil for another ten minutes before going  to his cot. He gathered up his blanket and brought it back, and covered his ward's naked body. The ruined shirt Gaius tossed aside in disgust. If Merlin lived, Gaius would buy him an entire new wardrobe, fit for a king. 

_ If_.

The physician side of Gaius knew that Merlin's chances were slim to none. But the more fatherly side of him, the one who loved Merlin so very dearly, did not want to accept it. That would make Merlin's nearly certain death harder. 

He would have to inform Hunith. But how could he tell her that he had killed her child? He was supposed to protect him from this very fate, to help him control his magic. It was Gaius' fault that Merlin was dying. The old man should have tried harder to convince Aredian the bracelet was his. He should have tried harder to convince  Uther that Merlin was no sorcerer. He should have snuck down the first night Merlin had been imprisoned, and snuck him out and escaped with him, never to return. He should have stopped the torch from falling onto the pyre. He should have killed Aredian.  Should have, should have, should have. 

But didn't.

Gaius had not done anything to help the poor boy. Merlin had suffered alone at the hands of Aredian. He had suffered alone on the pyre. Merlin had suffered alone because  Gaius  had  _ failed_. It should have been him.

There was a short rap on the door, and Gaius knew exactly who was entering before the door even opened. "Sire," he greeted, eyes never straying from Merlin.

"Gaius," Uther said, a bit cautiously. When the physician said nothing, the king stepped fully into the room. "I know I've already told you that anything damaged  in Aredian's search would be gladly replaced, but I wanted to come and tell you that anything you need at all for your ward's funeral will be supplied as well."

It took Gaius longer than  Uther expected to reply, and when he did it was coldly, "You're very kind, My Lord. "

Uther nodded slowly, lifting his chin and clasping his hands behind his back. Gaius was angry with him. He kept his eyes resolutely on Gaius, away from the dead boy. "Aredian. I can still scarcely believe he was a sorcerer." 

"Indeed. Is there some reason you wish to see me?"

"Yes," the king said a bit  uncomfortably. His eyes flickered to his son's manservant when he made a particularly breathy noise. So he was still alive. "I,  er...wanted to say I'm sorry that your ward suffered at Aredian's hands."

Finally, Gaius turned and looked at the king. Uther immediately saw that his old friend had been crying, as his watery blue eyes were red rimmed and there were obvious wet tracks on his cheeks. "But Merlin did not suffer at Aredian's hands, Uther," he said. "He suffered at yours. Aredian worked for you, My Lord. He was merely following your orders."

"But I was deceived,"  Uther protested, scrambling to hide his shock at Gaius' address.

"No. You were deceived long before Aredian, for you deceived yourself. You see foes where there are friends, you see  sorcerers where there are but servants." Uther's eyes flicked again to Merlin. Gaius continued, "Merlin is not the first to be wrongly accused in your war against magic."

"I assure you, Gaius," Uther said in what he hoped was a placating tone, "every measure will be taken to ensure that nothing like this will happen again."

"I hope that is true, for all our sakes," Gaius said, averting his eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must tend to my charge."

Uther nodded and turned to leave. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, one that he'd not felt for a long time. He was unforgiven, he knew. 

"My Lord," Gaius said.

The king halted and turned. "Yes, Gaius?"

The old physician did not look up. "When he draws his last breath, I shall take him with me to Ealdor."

"Of course," Uther said. "I will have the  stablehands arrange a cart and horse for you."

"Thank you, My Lord," Gaius sighed, "but that is not necessary. I shall not be returning."

The sore feeling in Uther's belly writhed suddenly. "Pardon?" he said, evidently confused.

"When Merlin dies," Gaius said more bluntly, giving the king a sidelong look, "I shall leave and never return."

"I...I see," Uther frowned, looking as stricken as he could through his kingly mask. "Then...Thank you for your years of dedicated service. If you ever change your mind, you are always welcome back to Camelot."

"Thank you, My Lord."

Uther could think of nothing else to say, and it was apparent that Gaius would speak no further. He spun on his heel and swept from the room, struggling to keep his composure. He'd lost his dear friend.

* * *

 

Morgana ducked into the alcove when she saw Uther exit Gaius' chambers. He had a troubled expression on his face. She allowed herself a moment of grim satisfaction. So even the king could feel guilty. Morgana guessed that Gaius had given him an earful, which she would be doing as well later. She'd told him,  as had Arthur and Gaius, that Merlin was no sorcerer.  Uther was a fool when it came to magic. But she had to be careful in her confrontation with him: One slip could reveal her own magic, and she'd be put in Merlin's place.

It was a frightening prospect.

She waited a moment longer to make sure that the king had left, then peered out of her hiding spot. There was no one around. Smoothing the front of her green skirt, Morgana approached the door and raised a hand to knock tentatively. "Gaius?" she called.

There was a scuffling sound. It was the familiar steps of the physician coming to the door to answer. That likely meant that Gwen was no longer there, and she wondered where she had gone. Possibly to fetch water?

The door swung open to reveal a haggard-looking Gaius. "Morgana," he greeted wearily. "What can I do for you?"

"Will Merlin be all right?" she blurted. "Oh, Gaius, I really tried to stop  Uther, but he wouldn't believe me when I told him, and Aredian is - was - so horrible! How could anyone treat another person like that? There was so much blood, and he looked so _hurt_ , Gaius. He'll live, though, won't he?"

Gaius had waited patiently for Morgana's rambling to end for her to calm herself. Once she had, he regarded her a moment more, as though judging whether he should tell her the truth, part of it, or lie. Under her worried gaze, he finally sighed and stepped back.  "He is resting, but you may come and see him if you wish."

Morgana gave him a grateful look, but the concern was still prominent. Her apprehension was overridden by her desire to see her friend well, and her feet carried her to his side. Merlin had been covered with a blanket, hiding his body. She could make out the purple bruises around his neck, and the bruise on his cheek. Dark shadows like charcoal encircled his eyes. He was pale and sweaty, apparently feverish. Morgana's heart throbbed painfully.

Poor Merlin.

With tears in her eyes, Morgana turned to Gaius, who was looking sadly down at his ward. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

Gaius glanced at her and hesitated.

"Don't lie to me, Gaius," she said, "please."

"I don't expect he'll live through the night," Gaius said, one gnarled hand reaching out to smooth back Merlin's hair.

Morgana gasped, stricken. Her eyes found their way back to Merlin, who was so unnaturally still. He looked so different as opposed to that happy, charming Merlin she had come to know. How could anyone do this to him? To anyone? What had Merlin ever done? A single tear finally fell, and Morgana stepped back.

"Excuse me," she muttered thickly, ducking her head and practically running out of the room. 

Gaius did not stop her.

It was Morgana who should have been pointed out. She'd thought she was going to be, when  Aredian had said that the sorcerer was in the room. But instead, he'd picked Merlin. Innocent, kind, undeserving Merlin. He'd been so brave when he was accused, but he'd been so  broken  when he'd confessed. It should have been her.

Morgana knew it should have been she who was burnt at stake, who was tortured in the dungeons, but she could not bring herself to wish it were her. She was not strong enough to take Merlin's place. She did not want to be hurt, did not want to burn. It was too terrifying. Her tears began to flow against her will as she hurried up the stone steps to her chambers. Morgana was a horrible friend. If she had just come out as the sorcerer, then Merlin would have been spared. But then she would have been lying on that table, expected to die before the sun rose again.

Her breath hitched in surprise as her toe clipped the edge of the top step, sending her sprawling forward. But a strong hand grasped her arm and saved her, pulling her up so that she could regain her balance. Panting from a strenuous mixture of overwhelming emotion, physical exertion, and the lingering disorientation of an abruptly stopped fall, Morgana looked up at her savior.

"Morgana, are you all right?" Arthur asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Morgana considered snapping at him, but her nerves were too frayed, so she simply shook her head and extricated her arm from his hand. "I've been to see Merlin," she whispered as explanation.

The pained expression on the prince's face spoke volumes. She immediately knew that he had been to see him as well, and that he had seen more than she. "Is he...?" he trailed off, searching her face.

She lowered her eyes. "Gaius  doesn't expect Merlin to last the night."

Arthur's eyes slipped closed in dismay. This couldn't be happening. "I see," he said. Then he started forward and descended the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Morgana asked.

"Hunting."

She frowned at his response. But she did not confront him. Instead, she continued to her own chamber at a more appropriate pace, wiping her eyes with her fingers.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Arthur strode out into the courtyard. Aredian's body had been by then removed and disposed of, as had the pyre. Several servants were knelt on the cobblestones, scrubbing the scorched stone and washing away the ashes. He purposefully did not look in that direction.

At the entrance to the stable, Arthur demanded that a horse be saddled for him , and the handlers quickly  obliged. None dared to ask whether the knights would be joining him; it was obvious the prince was journeying alone, directly against the king's wishes. With a curt nod, Arthur led the horse out by its reigns and mounted it without help, then kicked its flanks. The horse obediently trotted off, neither he nor his rider looking back. 

Perhaps at first Arthur had only meant to get away from Camelot for a while, away from the prospect of his manservant's death. But once he had exited the city and delved into the woods, Arthur found himself searching urgently for something. He didn't know what, as he knew nothing about herbs or anything. Maybe a place to hide for a while until Merlin had passed on, so Arthur wouldn't have to face him. Once Merlin was gone he could delude himself into thinking he'd fired the boy, like so many others before him.

But that wasn't it, either. It was almost as though something were calling to him, beckoning him deeper and deeper into the forest. The horse seemed  unperturbed, and was wandering in the general direction that Arthur had steered it. Soon Arthur noted a few subtle side steps, a few nudges, a few indiscretions in the horse's walk that had soon turned them to a new course. It was not enough to make him suspicious, however, as he was too occupied in his thoughts and he had not been particularly going in any set direction anyway. He paid only enough attention to remember which way he had gone so he could find his way back.

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and Arthur jerked the horse to a stop, immediately on guard. The prince cursed himself as he realized he didn't recognize his surroundings. Keen blue eyes swept across the trees, searching out what had moved. It had been a mute flash of gray, too large to be a squirrel, and not quite the right color to be a deer or bear. That left human.

His hand slowly moved toward the sword on his belt.

As he reached for it, a single person stepped out of the trees, hands held up in a placating gesture. Arthur regarded the cloaked figure, hand stayed on the hilt. "Who are you?" he demanded in a princely tone. Then the prince spotted the tattoo on the man's forearm. He was a Druid. His senses  buzzed, trying to discern where the others were. He knew he would be outnumbered, and that they had the unfair advantage of magic. 

"Peace, young Pendragon," said the Druid. "I have come alone."

Arthur's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"We have heard your plight," he said, "and it was decided that I would come to you alone. I come bearing help."

"Plight?" Arthur asked, feeling a forbidden spark of hope. "Help?"

The Druid nodded. "Your friend is dying. He was accused and found guilty of sorcery."

Arthur's jaw clenched. How had the Druids heard of it? Did they have spies in Camelot? Or did they hear the news from travelers?

"This," said the nameless Druid, reaching into his robe and withdrawing an object, "is imbued with healing magic. It is not as powerful as it could be, but it should save your friend who was so wronged."

The prince stared at the object. It was a simple wooden cup. Then he looked at the Druid as though to determine whether he lied. For all he knew, the cup could drain the last of Merlin's life from him, or cause him more suffering, rather than heal him. As though reading his thoughts (the plausibility of that idea  made an uncomfortable jolt run through Arthur's body), the Druid reached up with his free hand and lowered his hood. His hazel eyes seemed sincere enough.

But magic was not to be trusted.

But  it could save Merlin.

But magic!

But Merlin!

"How do I know you're not lying?" Arthur demanded.

The Druid smiled kindly. "I have nothing but my word, young Pendragon, which is surely not worth much to you. Perhaps you might take the chance? Your friend will surely die soon, if my suspicions are correct. I shall wait here for two nights. Should you find I have lied, you may return here to kill me, or arrest me."

The prince nudged the horse forward, frowning intensely at the Druid. "If you lie," he said, snatching up the cup, "I will put you through what my manservant has endured."

"Very well," said the Druid agreeably.

Arthur tore his eyes from the stranger and studied the cup in his hand. It was slightly warm, probably from having been held close to its carrier's body. The curved wood was slightly chipped in places as though it had been dropped several times. 

"You must fill it with water," said the Druid, drawing Arthur's attention. "Any water will do, but your friend must drink every last drop from it. If he does not, the magic will fail. It may not heal his wounds entirely, but it will pull him away from the brink of death."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I will," he swallowed, looking suddenly uncomfortable, "I will not return to this place if it works. So I will thank you now." Then his eyes hardened. "However, if Merlin dies, I shall come for your head."

The Druid bowed. "Of course, young Pendragon."

The prince nodded curtly, then kicked the horse off. He was flying back the way he'd come, cup clutched tightly in front of him. It was a chance. It was for Merlin. _ For Merlin, for Merlin, for Merlin. _ Sweet, loyal, friendly Merlin could live now. 

He hoped he wasn't already too late.

* * *

 

Gaius had only retired with utmost reluctance on his part, after Gwen practically dragged him to his bed. It was late afternoon, but the physician needed to get some rest before the arduous night ahead. Gwen would gladly stay and help him care for Merlin, but it was better for everyone if he got some sleep. That way his mind would not be so tired and he would be able to react quickly to any trouble that arose. They both prayed none did.

Promising to wake him if there was any change, Gwen adjusted the changing screen to block out the light streaming in through the window. Then she returned to Merlin's side to sit vigil. Remembering that her mother used to run her fingers through her hair when she was ill as a young child, the maidservant did so for Merlin. It had always been a comforting touch for her, and she hoped it was for Merlin as well.

Merlin, of course, did not stir.

Gwen perked up a bit when she heard sprinting steps echoing in the corridor. She hoped that no one had gotten injured or come down ill. The last thing Gaius or Merlin needed was for Gaius to be called away in an emergency. But the footsteps slowed as they approached, and Gwen guessed that it wasn't so serious. Two light knocks, and the door slowly opened. 

A blond head poked in and cast a furtive glare around the room. Gwen might have laughed at the prince's wary look, like a child sneaking out past bedtime, but she stared at him, in this case. When Arthur didn't see Gaius, he shot Gwen a questioning look, and she gestured toward the changing screen and mimicked sleeping by laying her head on her hands. He nodded and stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him. Gwen spotted something in his hand.

Arthur crossed the room, and Gwen stood to make a place for him to be by Merlin - but to her shock she passed them and went to the dinner table. The object in his hand she then recognized as a cup, and the prince was pouring water into it. She tried not to feel offended. But the fact that Arthur had ignored his friend in favor of a drink was inconsiderate, to say the least. 

For a long moment, Arthur stared hard down at the cup, as though it were some vile manner of creature. She watched him, a bit confused. Why wasn't he drinking it? Was there something wrong with the water? Before she could ask, the prince had turned, his grimace changing into a stoic, determined mask. He approached the table, pausing beside Gwen to murmur, "Help me lift him up."

So the water was for Merlin. Why did the prince feel the need to give Merlin a drink? Perhaps it was his way of coping, or a way to make himself feel as though he were helping. Gwen softened at that, and moved forward to hold the boy up as she had done when  Gauis was dressing his wounds. Arthur's uncertain look returned, and he hesitated with the cup a few inches from Merlin's lips. Gwen caught his eye and she nodded encouragingly. 

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Arthur put the wooden cup to the manservant's mouth and tipped it gently. He pulled back, waiting to see if Merlin would swallow . His bruised throat bobbled, indicating that he had. The corners of Gwen's and Arthur's mouths turned up slightly. Then Arthur's fell as he concentrated on feeding another sip to Merlin. 

After a moment of watching Merlin, Gwen raised her eyes to discreetly study Arthur. He seemed intent on having Merlin drink every last drop, so she let him continue despite the burning of her arm muscles. It was nothing compared to what Merlin had been through. If sore arms was the price of Merlin staying hydrated, she would gladly pay it. 

Once the cup had been drained, Arthur quickly set aside the cup and wiped his hands on his pants nervously. Gwen lowered Merlin back to the table and readjusted his blanket, slightly flustered at the worried look the prince was sporting. She gave him a reassuring smile that he did not return. Instead, he pulled up the nearest chair and sat down in it, watching Merlin for any change. To see Arthur display his concern so openly was heartwarming, and Gwen decided not to comment lest it ruin the moment. She crossed the table and sat o n her own stool. 

Soon Arthur had begun to fidget. Gwen frowned at him. He was behaving quite oddly. When he shot a glance at the cup, Gwen suddenly realized he might have been worried about the water he'd given Merlin. She wondered whether he thought he'd given too much or too little of it, and Gwen was going to suggest that Merlin could take a little more liquid when Arthur leapt to his feet. 

She started, surprised.  Before she could say anything, though, Arthur had ripped back Merlin's blanket and begun to peel away the bandages. 

"What are you doing?!" she hissed, hands fumbling to stop his.

"I'm checking!" was his fiercely whispered reply.

"No, they're fine," she said lowly. "Gaius knows what he's doing."

"I need to know if it's working, Guinevere."

"He's not going to heal overnight, Arthur," Gwen said a bit more gently, pushing his hands back.

His eyes widened slightly as he looked at her, and Gwen stared back. Had he honestly believed that Merlin would heal so quickly? Arthur studied her for a long moment, then glanced at the cup again. Gwen frowned again. Did he think the water would heal him?

"Guinevere," he whispered seriously, lowering his voice so that she could hardly hear, "you must swear to me you'll tell no one."

Gwen was quite taken aback. But she knew that if she showed any sign of going against his condition he would tell her nothing, so she nodded and leaned forward slightly. 

"A Druid gave me that cup."

The maidservant blinked, mind racing to comprehend what she had just heard. Then she realized that Arthur was still speaking, and she honed in on his words.

"...me the cup, said it was imbued with healing magic," Arthur said, looking at Gwen as though desperate for some sort of confirmation that he'd done the right thing. "Said to fill it with water and to give Merlin every last drop, and he would get better."

Gwen nodded slowly, and her eyes slowly lowered to look at Merlin. He did look a bit better, but that could be attributed to the water. "Do you think it was the truth?" she asked.

Arthur hesitated, and looked more ashamed than ever before. "I took the chance."

She nodded again. "Let's give him until morning, and then we'll check his -"

Both gasped and recoiled in shock as Merlin bolted upright, nearly bashing his raven head into both of theirs. His blue eyes were wide and unseeing. The blanket fell from his upper body to rumple around his groin. Gwen immediately put out a steadying hand, and Arthur backed away a few steps cautiously. 

Then Merlin blinked and looked around a bit, sagging slightly. His brow furrowed in confusion, and there was no sign of recognition in his eyes. Gwen guided him back onto the table, and he easily complied, eyelids drooping. The manservant took his first full breath in a long few days, lungs expanding completely. Then he exhaled slowly. Gwen and Arthur looked delighted and hopeful when they realized that Merlin did not show any signs of pain or go into a coughing fit.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked.

Merlin blinked and turned his head slightly to look at his master. Recognition flashed through his shiny eyes, and the corners of his lips tugged upward. A shaking hand extended toward Arthur, who smirked and took it, struggling to keep his smirk from evolving into a grin. No need to show Merlin he was too ecstatic.

"Than' you," Merlin said hoarsely, overwhelmingly happy. "Than' you, than' you."

Arthur's smile faded slightly. "There's nothing to thank me for, Merlin," he said seriously. "Just try to get some -"

"You saved me," Merlin interrupted. "M' angel saved me. You're my angel."

At that, Arthur and Gwen exchanged a startled look. The prince swallowed. "Merlin," he said, trying to hide his concern, "what's my name?"

"Dunno," Merlin said happily. "You're  m' angel.  Than' you,  than' you."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Go to sleep, Merlin," he said, extricating his hand from Merlin's. He firmly pressed Merlin's arm back onto the table and flipped the blanket back up to cover his bandages . "Go to sleep."

Merlin's eyes slipped closed, and his breathing evened out.

Gwen gave Arthur a sympathetic look. "It's the fever," she said in way of explanation.

Arthur nodded. "I suppose this means that it worked, then...A bit."

She smiled. "I suppose it did. Thank you, Arthur."

He scoffed and muttered, "Nothing to thank me for." Then he turned and left.

* * *

 

When Gaius woke, he was not disoriented as most people were. He remembered everything that had happened earlier that day (It was approximately two marks after sundown, judging by the candle at his bedside). He almost didn't want to get up and see his ward's state, but of course he would have to. He was the only one who could care for him. It was both a curse and a blessing.

And then Gaius realized that he couldn't hear Merlin's wheezing. He bolted upright. No, no, no, no, he couldn't be! Not now. Oh, why had Gaius gone to sleep? His ward clearly needed him. What if he had woken in distress and was unable to voice it? He had been alone, and - 

Ga ius nearly knocked over the changing screen in his haste, startling Gwen. She whipped around and stood. "Are you all right, Gaius?" she asked.

He wordlessly pushed past her. The foolish girl! Hadn't she realized Merlin had stopped breathing?

But no, Merlin hadn't. 

Gaius stared down at Merlin, confused. The color had slightly returned to his face, and though he was obviously still feverish the creases in his face had smoothed out a bit. He was resting relatively peacefully, his chest rising and falling deeply underneath his blanket. But that was impossible. 

He arched the Eyebrow and turned to Gwen, who positively beamed at him. "It's a miracle," she said quietly.

"A miracle," he repeated. "And when did this happen? Why didn't you wake me?"

Her smile faltered a bit, but still shined happily. "Earlier this afternoon," she admitted. "You were resting, and it was a good change so I didn't want to bother you."

Gaius gave her a reprimanding glare, but couldn't find it in his heart to be angry with her. He, too, was ecstatic at Merlin's sudden turn for the better. Physician mode set in, and he began to check over the boy. First he pulled back the blanket and listened to Merlin's chest. Then he examined both of his ward's eyes, and found it all to be in excellent shape. Only then did he allow himself a small smile.

It was obvious that magic had been involved. Gaius could only hope that Gwen did not question the miracle, and neither did anyone else. If Merlin's magic really was discovered, he would be killed for certain. The physician was more than happy to pretend that it was indeed a miracle, and silently accepted that Merlin's magic had acted to save itself. His prayers had been answered.

Of course, as rumors were wont to do, the news spread quickly around the castle and into the lower town. Merlin had survived his ordeal, and things could only go uphill from there. The true sorcerer, Aredian, had been killed, and the crisis averted. Morgana was one of Merlin's first visitors when he'd woken. She and Gwen had visited with Merlin in his room, talking for hours, until he'd been tired out and drifted off, albeit unwillingly. 

Though his wounds had remarkably been purged of infections and set on a quick healing track, Merlin had still been left weak and exhausted. He was unable to walk because of the burns on his feet and legs, and could not use his heavily-splinted  right hand due to the crushed knuckles. His bruises were fading, but the scars on his back were still closing up. The brand on his chest was slowly turning into shiny pink scar tissue. Despite all of this, however, Merlin was cheerful and social as always, welcoming anyone who came to see him when he wasn't sleeping. Even when feeling miserable, he put on a smile. He was happy to be alive, though he was unsure how that had come to be. Gaius' explanation that his magic had healed him hadn't sounded quite right, but he accepted it.

Merlin had tried to apologize to Gaius for being such a burden and promise to do better, but the old man had said sharply, "Never mind that, my boy. You are not a burden, and you never have been. I am just so glad that you are still here."

* * *

 

On the day King Uther dropped by for a visit, Merlin was not feeling so well. He'd developed a fever late the night before, and all visitors had been turned away. When it had  risen in the morning, Gaius sighed. He'd have to make a quick trip to the marketplace to procure the herbs he needed to make a fever reducer. After making sure Merlin was sleeping, Gaius left quickly, eager to be back before his ward woke. 

Uther knocked, but received no answer. "Gaius?" he called as he opened the door. The room was empty, but through the door at the opposite end of the chamber he could see quick movement. Gaius must have been in there, and it was imperative that he speak with him. So he crossed the room purposefully.

He was only a bit surprised to see  Gaius' ward lying in the bed, breathing heavily and sweating. One arm hung limply off the edge, but a second later it had flopped up to rest over the boy's belly. His long legs were tangled in the blanket, and both of his pillows had been knocked to the floor in his feverish thrashing.

Uther had heard, of course, that Gaius' ward had miraculously survived. At first he hadn't believed it. Gaius himself had said that the boy would die. When he summoned Gaius and got a stammering servant stating that Gaius absolutely could not leave his ward's side, he became inclined to believe it. But he'd been far too busy to drop by and see for himself.

The king glanced over his shoulder, wondering where Gaius had gone. It seemed strange that the man had left his sick ward alone. Exhaling stressfully, Uther turned to leave. 

"Gai's!"

The king frowned and turned back. The boy's eyes were open and staring straight at him, but there was no apparent recognition. Uther was sure that if the boy had known it was the king he would have been frightened, rather than weakly holding out a hand in a feeble invitation to come to him. After a moment, the hand fell, the boy too weak to keep it up.

"Gaius isn't here, I'm afraid," Uther informed him. "Do you know where he's gone?"

"Gone?" he repeated, suddenly looking stricken. The boy immediately began to struggle to get up, but only succeeded in flinging himself off the bed onto the hard floor. His grunts of exertion and pain were muffled. Uther stared at the boy, tangled in both the blanket and his own limbs, still trying to push himself up. 

Another glance over his shoulder showed that the physician had still not come back. There were no guards outside to call in to assist the boy. That left only the king.

If it had been anyone but Gaius' ward he would have left him there. But Gaius was his friend, and he wasn't going to risk losing him again as he had when the boy was supposed to have died. If the boy was hurt when  Uther could have stepped in and prevented it, Gaius would be furious.

As it was, the king knelt down beside the servant and pulled the blanket free. The white nightshirt he wore seemed entirely too large for him, and  Uther wondered whether it was borrowed. It probably was. Heaping the blanket to one side so that it was out of the way,  Uther then collected the pillows and placed them back at the head of the bed. The boy had  stilled when Uther approached, and was  staring at something underneath his mattress.

"Go on, then," he said. "Back into bed."

The boy craned his neck and stared up him dazedly. 

Uther sighed and scrubbed his face with a hand. "Come on, then." He stood and bent at his waist, hooking his forearms underneath the boy's armpits. The king hoisted him up, slightly surprised at how light he was. He deposited him onto the bed, on his side, and then lifted his legs onto it. The blanket came next, and  though it was a bit lopsided Uther was satisfied that he had done a good job. 

"All right?" he asked, just to be certain that Gaius' ward wasn't in pain. If he was, he wasn't sure he could do anything, but he could inform Gaius as soon as he found him and get back into his good graces.

"Where's Gai's?" the boy asked.

"I don't know."

"Why?"

Uther frowned. "Gaius didn't tell me he was going anywhere."

"Why?"

"I don’t know."

The boy looked confused. "Are you an angel?" he asked after a moment. "There have been a lot of angels around. Am I dead? Is that why there are so many angels?"

_ Oh gods, the boy is mad_ _,_ Uther thought, staring at him. "No," he answered slowly. "I am not an angel. You are not dead. You are merely sick."

"Oh," he uttered, though he didn't look as though he had really understood anything. 

Uther hesitated unsurely. Gaius had not yet returned, and the boy was very ill. The king could always just grab the nearest servant or guard and have them come sit with Gaius' ward, but somehow he didn't feel compelled to do so. He did need to speak with the physician, after all. What was the harm in waiting for his return?

The king sat in the hard chair on the other side of the boy's bed, where Gaius probably sat. The manservant's eyes followed his movements. It was a bit unsettling, but  Uther didn't show his discomfort. He vaguely realized that he didn't remember the boy's name, so he asked.

"I have many names," was the mysterious reply.

"Oh?" Uther humored him, though he did feel a bit impatient. "What did your mother call you?"

"Merlin."

"Ah, yes," the king said. He remembered that. "Well, Merlin. I wanted to apologize -"

"I'm also called an  idiot ," Merlin said, staring at the king as though in challenge. "Do you know that?"

"I do now, " Uther sighed. There was no point in being miffed. Merlin was obviously quite mad.

"Do you know where Arthur is? I do. He's  -"

"Merlin," said Gaius from the doorway, shooting the boy an unreadable look.

Merlin, rather than looking chastised as Gaius' tone had suggested he would be, beamed. "Gai's!" he said happily. "You're not gone."

"Not anymore, no," Gaius replied stiffly, seeing that the king was sitting at his ward's side. "My Lord," he greeted. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Uther blinked at him. He had come to speak with Gaius about some important matter, but now he could not remember what that matter was. Despite that, he lied smoothly, "Yes. I've come to ask about a headache tonic."

"I see," Gaius said. "Sorry I was not here. I will fetch one for you now." He turned and shuffled out of the room, and  Uther followed, casting one last look at the mad child. Blue eyes followed him.

"About Merlin," the king began tentatively. 

Gaius looked up at him just as cautiously. 

"Is he...Will he be all right?"

"Yes, I should think so," Gaius smiled a bit fondly. "He's merely feverish now, My Lord.  I presume that he has said some strange things?"

"Yes," Uther said, glad that Gaius had not taken it the wrong way, "something about angels, and names . He didn't seem to recognize me."

"I don't suppose so," the old man laughed. He handed Uther a vial. "The headache tonic, My Lord."

"Thank you, Gaius," Uther said sincerely .

Gaius bowed, and the king took his leave. He never did remember what he had gone to ask about. 

Gaius sagged in relief.

* * *

 

Leon sighed heavily. Yet again, Prince Arthur had roped him into taking his place in the patrol  on his day off . Not that he could ever refuse. The prince was his superior, after all. As it was, all he could do was trudge around the perimeter of the castle with three other knights, checking for any intrusions or obstructions. He wondered where Arthur had run off to this time. Then he shook himself. Of course he'd gone to see Merlin. It only made sense. Leon smiled slightly. It was nice to see that Arthur cared for someone other than himself.

* * *

 

Gaius released the breath he had been holding when  Uther shut the door behind him. Then he turned and returned to Merlin's room, herbs still in his hand. "Sire?" he called, though there was nowhere really the prince could have - Ah.

Arthur scooted out from  underneath the bed, looking a bit pale. He cleared his throat and brushed himself off, trying to salvage some dignity. Gaius had left Arthur with Merlin while he had gone to the market, since the prince had so kindly offered. The old man had certainly not expected to see  Uther when he returned, and he was frightened that he had caught Arthur tending to his servant. But it seemed that Uther could not help but to care for the boy as well, when he thought he was alone. It reminded Gaius of the good, caring man Uther had been before he had become a widower king.

"That was close," Arthur said. When Gaius raised the Eyebrow in question, Arthur explained, "Merlin was having a nightmare of some sort -"

"I was?" asked a plaintive voice that was ignored.

"-  and fell off the bed. My father helped him back into it. Luckily, he didn't see me."

Gaius nodded, making a mental note to get the rest of the story later. "Well, I've got the herbs now, and I can make a tonic for him. Thank you for staying with him, Sire."

Merlin piped up, "Thanks."

"Not a problem," Arthur said to Gaius, clasping his hands behind his back. He glanced out of the window. "I should be on patrol for a few hours yet. Would it be all right if I were to remain here until then?" 

"Of course, Sire," Gaius smiled. 

"Of course," Merlin parroted.

Arthur gave him a half-hearted irritated look and sat in the chair. Gaius shuffled out to make Merlin's medicine. The prince regarded his delirious servant for a long moment, and Merlin stared back. It was hardly a moment later than Merlin's eyes suddenly began to droop. Apparently he was exhausted again. Arthur said nothing, knowing that speaking would only encourage Merlin to stay awake.

Gaius returned with the tonic and promptly poured it down Merlin's throat. His ward grimaced and shuddered at the taste, and Gaius shushed him before he'd even opened his mouth to complain. "Rest now, my boy."

Merlin's eyes slipped closed, and in less than a minute he had dropped off.

The physician left the two young men alone, shutting the door behind him. Arthur could still hear him bustling about in the main chamber, probably mixing and sorting things or readying a bag for the servant who had been doing his rounds for him. The prince was content to watch Merlin sleep peacefully, especially after that scare with the nightmare and then his father's sudden appearance. He'd hardly managed to scramble under the bed in time.

An overwhelming desire came over him. Before he knew really what he was doing, Arthur's hand had reached out and was stroking Merlin's hair as he had seen Gaius and Gwen do. Merlin's dark locks were soft under his hand. He did it again, considering the strangeness of the gesture. When he pulled away he saw that Merlin's eyes were open again, watching him. He was about to stammer out an apology, but Merlin spoke first, "Thank you."

The prince  sighed. "I'm not an angel, Merlin."

"I know, Arthur. Prat."

Then the manservant's eyes slipped closed again. Arthur blinked at him, still processing the fact that he'd been  _ recognized_, and  _ thanked_, and  _ insulted_. For caressing his hair? For being at his side? It didn't matter the reason. It made Arthur feel good, and he tried to suppress his smile despite the fact that no one was around to see it. 

END.


End file.
